


burning up in the sun

by spacegirl



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Car Chases, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, I'm bad at tagging sorry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Laser Guns, M/M, Minor Character Death, Slow Build, going on the run, rating will change as we go on, some violence and gun stuff but nothing too brutal, this is fun to write though!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2020-03-13 21:03:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 39,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18948619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacegirl/pseuds/spacegirl
Summary: Maybe the mask wasn’t just a prop, or a gimmick, maybe the kid’s for real, maybe he'll be the catalyst for another revolution.Everyone’s been getting antsy recently. There’s less water, less food, it’s getting harder to keep surviving out here, everyone’s been waiting for someone who can tell a story with a happy ending.Or...How Pat ends up on the run with the desert's most wanted, and can't help falling in love.





	1. This ain't a party

**Author's Note:**

> SO! This is based on the My Chemical Romance Danger!verse or the Killjoys comics – but you should be able to read this and get the universe without knowing anything about that. It's basically post-apocalypse running through the California desert futuristic wild times.
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful fishcola for reading this through and making sure this world makes sense to people who aren't emo trash still in love with My Chem.
> 
> Even though you shouldn't need context, you should watch the music video for Na Na Na – Just because it really kicks ass https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=egG7fiE89IU

**_Rise and shine dust bunnies! It’s Dr. Death Defying and we’re sending this transmission out early, to catch you birds before you turn into worms. It’s gonna be mayhem out under the sun today, after an escape from Battery City last night. You wanna get somewhere safe before Dracs show up on your doorstep. Find your get up and go cause we’re only hitting the waves with one track this morning and we’re already outta time._ **

Pat’s already awake when the transmission hits, he’s in the car speeding through the dust of Zone Two, heading to Dr. D’s station to drop off some recordings and pick up his next job. Shit. If there’s only time for one track this morning then he’s already late, and they’re probably starting to head home.

Well, the place they’re keeping most of their stuff at the moment – the complete mess that used to be the Starlight Diner. Pat looks at his fuel gauge, it’s not looking great, especially if he can’t find them and has to bounce around the desert to find out where they’re set up today.

Dr. D’s got radio stations scattered throughout the zones, makeshift ones in motel rooms and abandoned diners, in tiny shacks and the back rooms of gas stations. There’s more the closer you get to the city, electricity still runs through Zone One and Two without any problems. You get further out and it gets patchy.

Pat spins the car around, heading to his new destination, Zone Four. At least he’s not likely to run into any Dracs out there. Yesterday’s disobedient citizens turned into today’s mind controlled vampires, no really, with a rubber vampire mask hiding their face and everything.

After an escape from Battery City the patrols will have increased in the inner zones, Dracs ready and waiting to catch whoever made it out of the city and turn the traitors into one of them. They won’t be too worried about chasing rebels through the outer zones or causing fights just for the hell of it today.

He’s still constantly checking his rearview mirror to make sure there’s no government mandated shiny white vehicle tearing away from the city. Trying to round up escaped citizens. They don’t want people getting out and they certainly don’t want rebels like him finding a way back in.

They don’t want rebels like him existing at all actually, or anyone in the zones, as soon as you’re in shooting range they’ll point a gun at you.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by the moment of static before the track kicks in.

**_Yeah I drink juice when I’m killing cause it’s fucking delicious._ **

It’s loud and angry, all fuzzy guitars and no patience. The kind of song Dr. D plays when there’s a chaotic day on the horizon, or a dangerous spark in the air. When he figures everyone needs a song to bounce around to before they’re spending hours shooting lasers or running for their lives.

It’s Mad Gear’s new track. They’re a pretty alright band, Pat’s recorded a few of their songs now, alright kids to hang with too. Drummer’s got a pretty good shot with a ray gun when it counts, saved his ass once. Pat can’t even remember his name and feels like an asshole for it.

They’d been rushed out of their recording session by Dracs who heard the music and couldn’t resist a chance to increase their body counts, killing rebels who make music is probably how you get a promotion. Pat just needed someone to cover him, to buy him a few seconds to get their equipment into the car. He got away with just a scrape thanks to their drummer laying down protective fire.

Pat turns up the volume and drums his hands on the steering wheel, getting into the music as he drives. He doesn’t know when he’ll be driving with a song playing again, he’s usually given the bike over the car. He’s shouting along with the parts of the chorus he remembers.

Fuck, Pat forgot this really was a good song. It’s really got everything, loud guitars, a good long _woaaah_ in the chorus, and even a countdown to when the bassline kicks in.

Last time he heard it he was wasted on homebrew with Pony, halfway to giving up on fixing a record player they’d picked up from someone who’d just made it out of the city.

Poor guy, he wasn’t ready for desert living at all. The guy still had a plain suit on, a bright white government issue gun that stood out from a mile off. Pat remembers the fear in his eyes when someone told him he better paint his gun and get out of that suit before someone thought he was a sleeper cell and shot him dead.

Pat painted his gun dark blue when he first got to the zones. There’s been additions over the years, some silver stripes, some pink dots, a sticker that says _THE DESERT IS NOT YOUR FRIEND._

He used to get into arguments about it when it was all dark blue. Katz would lecture him, _It’s gotta be colourful, more than one colour at least, what’s the point if it’s not bright. Throw the colour back in their faces._ Pat would scoff, _it’s about individuality you moron. The colours don’t mean fuck all if you’re just doing it cause you feel like you’ve got to._

He was always accused of being too cynical, people couldn’t believe he worked for Dr. D and knew the Killjoys, especially if they’d heard him spouting off his bleak outlook on life and the future. He wasn’t as hopeful as the rest of his friends. He didn’t believe in the chance of a revolution that could succeed, but he shared their main ideology – fuck assimilating and fuck authority.

He was right not to believe in a successful revolution anyway. The Killjoys made it to Battery City but they didn’t make it back out, they didn’t change the world.

Most of the time Pat can’t believe they haven’t found Dr. Death Defying, but then again, he’s got Show Pony. And no one moves faster through the zones than Show on his skates.

 

 

 

 

When Pat makes it to the Starlight Diner there’s music blasting from inside. Another car and a bike are already outside, Legs is here too then. Fuck. She’ll want the car back and he’ll be back on the bike.

Pat pushes through the door, “I thought we were worrying about extra Dracs today. You can hear that music from the next zone over.”

Dr. D laughs, throwing his head back, but he turns the music down. His hair is down to his shoulders now, starting to turn grey. “Someone’s gotta set the soundtrack Vinyl. Thought you knew that by now.”

Hearing Vinyl instead of Pat can still spin him out if he’s been alone for a few days. He spends a lot of time alone, forgets he’s a whole new person here when he doesn’t have anyone around to remind him.

Still, it’s not a bad desert name all things considered, he met a dude once who called himself _Meat-flap_. Pat’s got no clue how he got that name, honestly he doesn’t want to know.

Legs pushes up from the table she was leaning against, “Vy’s just worried about the noise cause he knows he’s the worst shot if they bust in here.”

“Says the girl with laser burn across her neck.” Pat deadpans. He’s right though, she’s got a wicked red mark still in the process of healing. They didn’t hit her, but it was close. She shifts the bandana around her neck a little.

Legs walks over to him with a smirk and punches him in the arm. “Don’t make me beat you up.”

Pat laughs loud “Yeah you think you can take me–”

“Kids stop fighting.” Dr. D breaks into a coughing fit on the other side of the diner, turning around in his wheelchair and heading towards them. He’s mumbling under his breath about being too old for this shit, he always is these days.

“Here’s the deal. Vinyl you’re handing the car over to Legs.” She whoops and punches him in the arm again, grinning wider at his look of disappointment. “She’s got supply runs through Zone Two, needs the trunk space. Vinyl you’re recording at the Nest tonight, you don’t need nothin’ but your sweet self and that backpack. You get the bike.”

“Fine. There’s not much gas left in the car by the way.” Pat throws the keys to Legs before slumping himself into a booth, getting the latest lot of memory sticks full of fresh tunes out of his bag.

“Bike’s the same.” Legs puts her keys on the table, re-ties the spotty bandana around her neck and puts her sunglasses on. “See you later maybe.”

She leans down to kiss Dr. D on the cheek before she leaves. “Stay safe.” Pat shouts after her.

“Stay wild.” Legs calls back as she’s stepping out the door.

Pat can’t believe it’s been five years since he made it out to the zones. Five years of _stay safe, stay wild_ and running for his life through the dust.

Dr. D heaves a sigh as he rolls up to the table and reaches across for the memory sticks. “How’s the desert treating you Vy?”

“You know me.” Pat responds with a slight laugh as Dr. D slips the memory sticks in his bag and pulls out some fresh ones, putting them on the table along with some batteries.

“Yeah I know you.” The other man huffs, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Stubborn and self-isolating. Best music producer out in the zones.”

“I’m not a music producer, I just hit record on a machine.” Pat shoves the new memory sticks and batteries in his bag as Dr. D mutters something under his breath again. Pat taps his fingers against the table. “Anyway, what’s the deal tonight. Who’s playing the Nest?”

“Bad News Kids. That guy Spark and his sister Fizz. New kids – showed up out of nowhere. He’s got a voice like the apocalypse hasn’t managed to rough up his edges at all.”

Pat laughs, disbelieving, no one’s wandering around these wastelands without a few rough edges. “Alright. Anything else you need me to do?”

Dr. D shakes his head and Pat stands, getting ready to leave.

“You ain’t off already Vinyl? Show will be here soon, we’re gonna eat breakfast. It’s not like you got anyone better to be hanging out with.”

“You need me to look after you ‘til Show gets back?” Pat smirks down at him a little, slinging his backpack on his back. If there’s one thing Dr. D can’t stand it’s people treating him like he needs to be looked after.

Dr. D smacks Pat’s ass as he walks by. “I don’t need no fuckin’ babysitter kid. Get outta my hair if you got better places to be, and make sure you’re at the Nest by dusk.” Pat gives a salute and picks up the keys for the bike. Dr. D laughs as Pat heads out, calling after him “Stay safe.”

“Stay wild.” Pat shouts, pushing the door open and heading out into the dust.

 

 

 

  
  
Pat doesn’t have anywhere better to be, or anyone better to waste a day with, but he can’t be cooped up in the diner with Dr. D and Show Pony if they’re reviewing recordings for hours on end. Besides, he’s used to roaming around on his own more often than not.

He drifts about, following his gut instincts to stay out of trouble, calls at a Gas ‘N’ Gulp and picks up some breakfast, uses the money he has to buy some first aid supplies, makes sure he stays stocked up on the things he needs to survive out here.

Pat spots new wanted posters up, something looks off about them though, they’re not the usual black and white photo with a red X over the face. Is the heat getting to him already or is that… glitter? It couldn’t be, surely.

Pat steps up to the posters, it’s the kids playing a show tonight at the Nest – It’s an old photo of them, it must be. It’s not a mug-shot, they’re outside in a forest, laughing together. Their eyes are obscured by two black bars. Pat’s heart aches thinking about how many years he’s lived without seeing lush green trees.

 

**“Spark & Fizz”**

**WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE**

**GOVERNMENT TRAITORS**

**REWARD: 10,000 Carbons**

 

It’s the standard poster but with a hefty reward. Someone’s decided they’re dangerous, or at least their ideas are. Pat looks at their faces and can’t imagine either of them with a gun in their hand, although, they both might look completely different now they’re living in the zones.

You can see they’re obviously brother and sister, the guy has short hair, glasses. He’s clapping his hands together, body thrown forward laughing. She’s laughing too, hand reaching out to his shoulder, long dark hair being blown about by the wind.

There’s other text added too, below the photo, in swirly permanent marker handwriting and accented with glitter, plus some small stars and hearts drawn around it.

 

**~*~ COME SEE US AT THE NEST ~*~**

 

Pat hasn’t heard their music, but he’s pretty sure they’ll have a good gig, it’s a ballsy move to use your wanted posters to promote your band. They’ll draw a crowd, Pat’s glad they at least had the sense not to write the time down there, last thing anyone wants is Dracs killing the party.

 

 

 

 

Pat’s instincts were right, by the time the sun has dipped behind the mountains in the distance, and he’s leaving his bike at the back of the nest, the place is buzzing with people. This has to be the most kids he’s seen out to a show in a while, it’s probably nearly two hundred, everyone can’t even fit in the place.

He pushes in through the crowds of people out front, through the maze of tiny hallways and lounges to the large back room with the stage, it’s already pretty full. He goes to the makeshift bar – they’ve got moonshine or moonshine – Pat hands over his flask and they fill it, they’ll let him drink all night for free when he’s recording.

He says hello to Katz who probably would have arranged for Dr. D to send someone to record the show, and heads to the front to set up his stuff.

It’s a while before the house lights go down and the stage lights come on, giving everything a purple tint, as the crowd cheer for the three people running on stage. The two are from the poster, the girl grabs a guitar and the guy steps up to the mic, the other goes and sits at the drums. The kid at the mic’s got a mask on, half white and half pink, white rhinestones around the eyes.

It’s the same kind of eye-mask the Killjoys wore, the same ones that were the sign of the revolution brewing in the desert years ago, when it felt like there was a chance of overturning Better Living Industries’ control over the city. People don’t wear them anymore. Better Living controls the whole government now.

No wonder the reward was so high on that poster, they think he’s trying to get things brewing again. From the atmosphere in this place tonight, he might be, it’s electric and sharp edged, it feels like something dangerous is inevitable. Pat takes a swig from his flask and winces a little at the burn in his throat.

Pat looks down and checks the levels, lifts one headphone from around his neck to his ear as the kid starts to speak. “My names Spark and that’s my sister Fizz. We’ve also got Oaty on drums, but he’s not on the posters since even the government don’t want him.” He nods at his sister as she starts playing, he looks out over the crowd with a smirk and his voice is full of… _something_ when he says, “This is gonna be fun.”

The drums kick in and the first song starts and the kid, Spark, knows how to command the stage. He has the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand within the first minute, the song starts with some chanting, and it repeats enough to give the crowd a chance to join in.

**_We could get somebody else, but we want someone like you!_ **

It’s not often Pat gets to see a show where the crowd is captured from the first song. Pat wonders how he missed these kids bursting onto the scene, maybe he should start going to shows when he’s not recording, even his head is nodding along.

The kid starts singing and it’s incredible, of course it is, Dr. D always has the best spot for talent, and he wasn’t lying when he said Spark’s voice doesn’t have any rough edges. It’s not gruff or harsh at all, he’s loud and shouts through some lines for the performance, but there are other lines where his voice is soft and clear and beautiful.

He throws himself around the stage, stands back to back with Fizz as she plays guitar, stands on the kick drum and leans forward, getting close enough to the drummer that the mic can pick up his voice too. The kid plays like he’s sold out Madison Square Garden, Pat thinks he must have done this before the world fell apart. He must have been a theatre kid, or had a band with his friends, or something.

He rips his mask off and throws it over in Pat’s direction at one point, it lands on the table next to Pat, he picks it up and runs his fingers over the rhinestones. God, he remembers when he had one of these for real, and it wasn’t just some stage prop.

He looks back up to Spark as he sings into the bouncing crowd, and when he turns back to smile at his sister Pat is struck by how beautiful he is, lit up by the spotlights like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Singing his heart out like there’s no where he’d rather be, or like there’s not a wasteland waiting for them all to get back to when they’re out of here. Smiling wide at the crowd like there’s still hope left in the world, or happiness, or joy.

The song ends and the crowd breaks out into furious applause and cheers, the kid is out of breath, panting a little as he laughs a little into the microphone. “Alright fine, we’ll play another.”

They burst into their next song with the same amount of energy as the first, Pat’s brain sticks on one of their lyrics;

 

**_And we will wear our masks again out after dark,_ **

**_‘Cause we are up for everything it takes and we are not the same._ **

 

Maybe the mask wasn’t just a prop, or a gimmick, maybe the kid’s for real. With how many people have showed up it looks like enough people believe in him. Everyone’s been getting antsy recently. There’s less water, less food, it’s getting harder to keep surviving out here, everyone’s been waiting for someone who can tell a story with a happy ending.

It doesn’t surprise Pat that no one’s mentioned it to him if there’s been murmurs of another revolution, they know his opinions, they know how it pisses him off. A whole lot of hope only causes a whole lot of pain, that was his usual response when Dr. D brought it up.

Hell, maybe Dr. D even believes this kid could be the catalyst for it, probably wants to help spread the message if Pat’s here to record it.

The kid comes over to his side of the stage after the second chorus, dropping to his knees and leaning forward to where Pat’s mic is set up on the table. Pat has to adjust the levels a little since Spark moved closer, when he looks back up from his mixer he’s looking straight into the kids eyes. They’re wild with excitement, adrenaline – a mirror of chaotic energy that radiates off him in waves.

Pat’s gut twists as he looks at the kid in front of him, he can’t be much older than twenty, and he’s smirking with a confidence that makes Pat feel sick. He still looks so innocent, so much like his picture from his old life. Too pure for the desert, too soft to be trying to lead an impossible fight against the system. Pat is sure nothing about this can end well.

 

 

The band are kicking into the fifth song when there’s a commotion at the back of the room and what sounds like distant laser fire, and then Pat’s looking up to a swarm of Dracs busting into the room, guns pointed and already starting to shoot. The next few seconds are a blur. It’s chaos. Pat stops the recording and starts shoving everything into his backpack, throwing it over his shoulder and trying to see the best way out.

He takes the gun out of his holster and holds it tight, ready to shoot, ducking and heading towards the door behind the bar. This place is like a rabbit warren, but Pat thinks that way will lead to a back exit. There’s got to be around twenty Dracs in there by now, he bets there’s more outside too with how much shouting there is all around. He hasn’t seen this many Dracs out together since they raided Dr. D’s station years ago, desperate to find and kill anyone who still believed in the rebellion.

Some people are fighting – Pat chooses to run. He pushes through the door and rushes through the shadowy corridors, trying his best to be quiet incase Dracs are coming in this way too. He hears the static of a walkie-talkie and quickly ducks into the nearest room, hiding and watching through the crack in the door. Five more Dracs run past, white suits already stained with blood, guns at the ready.

Pat waits a minute before creeping out of the room, carrying on towards what he hopes is the way out.

It is the way out, but when Pat turns a corner and sees a door leading back out into the dark desert, there’s also a white car right outside. Pat’s almost certain they’ll have someone waiting at the car, a Drac who wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him before he’s even out of the door.

He runs back the other way, back through the corridors, trying not to think about the body he runs past at one point. He makes it back to the main room and ducks to hide behind the bar, there’s still plenty of Dracs here but they’re caught up in a shoot out. Pat runs back to where he was recording and across the stage, out through the backstage door. He’s praying there’ll be a window he can climb out of.

He runs through the corridors, turning around corners without looking when he almost runs into three Dracs, they’re not waiting for him though.  They’ve got someone pinned against the wall and are trying to get a Drac mask on them. It’s the kid from the band, of course they wouldn’t shoot him, they’ve probably had orders he needs to be turned into one of them to stop him becoming a martyr.

The kid is pleading, desperate begs that are hitching into sobs. They reach up and grab him by the throat, he’s hitting back against the Dracs but it’s useless, they’re so much stronger than him.

Pat doesn’t hesitate in shooting the three Dracs quickly, the dark corridor lighting up in three bright green flashes as he fires. He’s a good shot, and they drop to the ground, instantly stilled. The kid looks up at him with wide eyes, he doesn’t even have a gun in his hand.

Pat steps forward and grabs a gun from one of the bodies on the floor, presses it into the kid’s hands, he’s still stood frozen to the spot when Pat starts to move away. Pat should keep going, the last thing he needs is the desert’s most wanted hanging around with him, he’s sure there’ll be a manhunt for him if there’s no report he was converted or killed here tonight.

But Pat can’t leave someone behind, he shouts over his shoulder, “Are you coming? We’ve gotta go.”

It snaps the kid back to reality and he starts running after Pat, they make it to the back room and Pat thanks whatever luck is left in the universe that there’s a window, and it opens wide enough for them to climb out of. He peers out into the darkness to check it’s clear before jumping down, extending a hand for Spark to take and climb down too. He’s shaking when he takes Pat’s hand.

Pat pulls him towards where he left his bike around the corner of the building, there’s one Drac lurking in that area, Pat shoots him and he drops without a shout. He hopes no one will come looking for him before they get out of here.

Pat gets to the motorbike and the kid grabs his arm, pulls him back and leans in to whisper to him, “I’ve got to find my sister. Thanks for, um, saving my life.” His voice is small and nervous, it’s a complete contrast to who he was on stage.

“Kid, you’ll get shot if you go back looking through there. We’ve gotta leave now.” Pat hisses back and carries on getting on the bike, he gets it though – he would be willing to risk it all if he still had family he could save.

He only shrugs in response to Pat, then pushes his hair back from his face and takes a deep breath, heading back towards the door.

Pat twists the keys in the ignition and gets ready to get out of there, watching as Spark throws the door open and heads back inside. God, he hopes things will work out okay, that he won’t be another brilliant person Pat will never see again.

He hopes that he’ll hear a rumor the whole band escaped without a scratch, and there’ll be another Bad News Kids show in a few months, defiant in the face of the attack.

Pat can’t believe he’s being hopeful. Why is he being hopeful? He hasn’t been hopeful in years.

There’s no time to think about it before the kid is running back out of the door shouting _GO GO GO,_ climbing onto the back on Pat’s bike, wrapping one arm around his waist as he points the gun he’s holding behind them. Shooting at the group of Dracs with wild abandon, laser fire going everywhere, the kid can’t shoot straight with only one hand.

Pat pulls away, pulling clouds of dust up behind him as they speed off. Brian’s still shooting behind so he guesses someone must be following them, he hopes the Dracs don’t have a bike.

Brian gasps as a laser shoots past them, next time there’s a noise and Brian shouts _fuck_ and the bike swerves a little. He must have been hit, or it was close, Pat can still hear him shooting though so he guesses it’s not too bad.

Pat calls behind him. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Fuck.” Brian’s still shooting, laser blasting every few seconds, barely enough time for the gun to fully recharge the shot. They must have a bike following them, they’ve been speeding towards the outer zones faster than anyone running could follow. Brian turns and wraps his other arm around Pat’s waist, throwing the gun to the ground. He rests his chin on Pat’s shoulder, shouting in his ear. “Guns outta juice. There’s just one bike left. You gotta outrun him”

Pat tries not to think of how little gas there is and heads towards the outer zones as fast as he can, Dracs never travel through the outer zones alone on bikes. They’re further from the signals that keep the mind control tech working in their masks, it only lets them go so far without a car. Pat figures the cars must transmit the control signal too.

They’re still being followed when they reach Zone Five, and he’s just starting to think they might need a new plan, when Brian’s voice is in his ear again.

“He’s slowing down. He’s slowing down.” Brian’s voice is high and shaky with excitement. “We’re losing them.”

Pat keeps driving for a while, just to be safe, until the bike starts to gargle and stutter before slowing to a stop. Empty tank. _Shit._ Pat sighs and announces “We’re on foot from here then, I guess.”

They climb off the bike and abandon it as they start walking together, Dr. D won’t be mad that they’ve lost a bike if it meant they got out alive. The kid walks beside him quietly, Pat keeps flicking his eyes over to check on him, and thinks the kid is probably in shock. It’s well into the night now, they’re walking through the darkness to the closest flickering neon sign they can see in the distance. Pat breaks the silence.

“You okay, kid?”

“I don’t know.” At least it’s an honest answer. “My side hurts. I got hit. _Shit._ Only a bit, but fuck.” He sucks in a breath and pulls up his shirt but it’s too dark for Pat to see the damage.

“We’ll fix you up when we find somewhere to settle for the night.” He pulls his backpack around to pull out a bottle of water, taking three big gulps before passing it over. “If that’s the sign for Judy’s Donuts then we’re at the edge of Zone Six, and there’s a few places we can duck inside for the night.”

Pat’s well prepared for traveling around at night, and digs in his backpack to find a headlight he pulls on, the light letting them see what they’re walking towards, and a torch he passes over to Spark.

“Thanks. For the water, for everything. _Fuck._ You saved me tonight.” Pat puts the water away and they start walking again. “I’m Spark, by the way.”

“Yeah. Vinyl.” The kid holds his hand out to shake and Pat can’t help but laugh a little as he shakes his hand. Who shakes hands out here? “It’s no problem, really, I did what anyone would do.”

They carry on walking until they find a small abandoned building and head inside. It’s empty apart from a sofa and a few camp chairs, it doesn’t look like anyone’s been using this to crash for a while. They check the other two rooms, but there’s nothing in them but mess, a bed frame without a mattress. Good luck can’t be everlasting.

Pat takes his headlight off and puts it down at an angle to light the room. The kid is still shaky, wide nervous eyes flitting around the space, and over Pat, trying to work out if he’s safe. Pat guides him over to sit on the sofa, taking the torch off him and going through his bag.

“I’ve got stuff for laser burn, how bad is it?” The kid pulls his shirt up for Pat to see. It’s red and angry, but they didn’t catch him well enough for it to be serious. It’s not blistered. Pat pulls out a nutrition bar and passes it over, then some Dupe Goop – _the best cure for flash rash money can buy_ – and moves to sit next to Spark on the sofa. “You should eat that. And help yourself to water, obviously. You look like you’re in shock. You okay if I… ?”

Pat’s voice trails off and the kid nods, “Yeah, sure.”

Pat’s careful as he rubs the slime over the red skin, luckily it doesn’t sting, it’s cooling enough to make Spark sigh a little in relief, body relaxing as the pain eases up. It’s shadowy in the room but Pat can still see the hundreds of emotions running through the kids mind all over his face. Relief, fear, anger, determination, exhaustion.

He’s still beautiful through all of them.

They drink more water and finish the nutrition bars in a tired silence, when Spark yawns loudly, Pat mumbles. “Come on, we should sleep. We’ll need to get out of here at sunrise, if they’re looking for us and they find the bike we’re toast.”

Pat’s not sure if he’ll be able to sleep, his adrenaline is still running wild from the attack and the chase through the zones, but he doesn’t think either of them are up for conversation right now. He assumes the kid must be on the same page because he nods and pulls his boots off.

Pat does the same and pulls a blanket out of his bag, it’s not much but it’s something, and it really gets freezing at night. He sits in the corner of the sofa, curling his legs under himself and covering himself with half the blanket. He holds the other end out to Spark, who just looks at Pat with wide eyes for a moment before taking the other corner of the blanket and shifting closer so it can cover them both.

They’re pressed together in the silence for a while before Pat leans over and turns the light out. Pat thinks he can feel the tension of the kid trying not to cry. He pushes down the urge to comfort the kid, or pull him into a hug – he doesn’t want to be what makes Spark break.

Spark just got separated from his friends, has no idea where his sister is, or if she’s even okay, had to escape with a dude he knows nothing about. Pat thinks he’d be sobbing by now if that were him.

He pulls his flask out of his pocket and takes a gulp before passing it over, the kid takes three gulps, but it doesn’t seem to help him relax. A drunken buzz should help them pass out a little faster, without feeling such a harsh bite of cold in the air.

“At least we’ve got each other for warmth. Don’t worry about leaning on me, just get comfy.” Pat learnt years ago there’s no point in trying to be over-polite or worrying about personal space when you’re trying to survive. Spark shifts around for a minute, before settling with his legs crossed under himself, leaning back against Pat. Pat moves his arm to the back of the sofa, letting the younger man drop his head back against Pat’s chest. “If you need anything just wake me up.”

Spark’s voice is quiet, “Thank you Vinyl. For helping, for everything.” Pat just hums in response and closes his eyes.

 

 

 

 

Pat’s not sure how long it’s been when he hears the kid sniffle slightly and curl against him. He’s still not asleep, brain trying to process the last few hours.

The kid whispers barely loud enough for Pat to hear, but he catches it in the silent room. “My name’s Brian. I’m not tough at all, I’m just scared. I’m scared about what’s happened to Laura and Jonah and I hope they’re okay out there.”

He’s crying now and Pat can feel him pulling the blanket up a little to wipe his eyes.

Pat doesn’t respond, he thinks the kid, _Brian_ , must have assumed he’d fallen asleep by now. He’s probably just trying to get the thoughts keeping him awake out of his brain, Pat gets it. He’s been wandering around the desert alone long enough to know you’ll talk to anyone; yourself, a cockroach, an empty water bottle. It doesn’t change anything, and you don’t usually get a response, but it lightens the weight on your soul.

Brian fidgets next to Pat for a while, trying to get comfy, he goes still when Pat shifts to drop his arm from the back of the sofa to wrap around Brian. Brian sighs and his body seems to finally fully relax against Pat’s. It’s the last thing he remembers before he falls asleep.

Pat dreams about Brian smirking at him on stage, bright lights, the flash of lasers, and the chaos of the zones trying to fight an impossible revolution once more.

  



	2. Keep you safe tonight

Pat wakes up with a dull pain in his neck and his mouth dry as cotton, that’s pretty much normal for most days anyway. What’s not so normal is the person leaning against him, head on his chest, one arm clutching onto his bicep. Pat comes back to himself slowly, remembering the night before, escaping the Drac attack on the Nest with the kid and ending up out here.

Pat opens his eyes slowly, glancing down at the body pressed against him. The kid, _Brian_ , is sleeping soundly, leg twitching every now and then. Pat doesn’t want to wake him, but he’ll have to soon. The sun has started to break over the horizon, pushing through the low lying pollution to tint everything golden, jagged orange light streaming into the room through a smashed window.

Pat can’t think of the kid as Spark now, can’t imagine him as the figurehead of a rebellion without remembering his soft trembling voice as he started to cry himself to sleep. _Brian_.

Pat wonders where he’s from, he can’t place the accent really, it sounds a bit East Coast. Pat wonders if he if he had to pack up and leave in the Analog Wars, trying to find somewhere safe across the whole country before ending up here.

Brian starts to stir not long after Pat, stretching his arms out and shifting to click his back. He moves and leans an elbow into Pat’s stomach, it makes Pat wince with an _oof_ and Brian jumps awake at the noise. Eyes flying open as he pushes away from Pat, to the other end of the sofa.

“Sorry. Sorry.” Brian’s looking around the room, stitching together the memories from last night as he does, then back at Pat. His eyes are intense; too open, afraid and vulnerable. Pat has to look away.

“It’s fine, you’ve just got some pointy elbows is all.” He laughs and Brian’s face relaxes a little at least. Brian’s hand moves towards the water bottle on the floor before it twitches away out of politeness and he fiddles with his jeans instead. Pat waits a moment before he reaches forward to grab the water, there’s not much left. They’ll have to find someone with supplies soon.

He takes a few sips before passing it over to Brian. “You can finish that off. We better get going soon, there’ll be supplies somewhere even this far out, just might take a bit of searching.”

Brian accepts the bottle hesitantly, putting it to his lips and then pulling it away again. “Are you sure?”

Pat laughs. “Yeah, last thing I want is to carry you around after you’ve passed out from heat stroke or dehydration.”

Brian still looks a bit panicked. Pat guesses maybe Brian’s not long out of the city, he’s probably thinking he’s in debt to anyone who shows him a lick of kindness.

He hopes Brian’s not running errands for someone who pays shit and then charges through the roof for basic supplies, Pat was stuck in a situation like that when he first got out here. It’s shitty to say the least.

Pat raises his eyebrows a little when the kid still hasn’t drank anything, and gently nudges the bottom of the bottle up towards Brian’s lips, there’s another second before Brian tips it back and drinks until the bottle is empty.

“Thanks Vinyl.” Brian hands the empty bottle back over to Pat, who shifts to put it in his bag, packing away the blanket and lights as well. He can feel Brian’s eyes on him, cautious, still trying to figure him out.

Pat starts getting his boots back on and the kid is still watching him with a nervous energy. “What’s wrong kid?” He sighs, voice breaking into harsh exasperation. He doesn’t mean to be harsh, but he’s not like this kid, the desert roughed up all his edges years ago. Besides, his edges were already pretty rough when he was in the city.

“No–it’s–” The kid cuts himself off and rubs his hands over his face. “It’s nothing. You’re just too kind. Too giving. Puts me on edge a bit, I guess, sorry. You just… You don’t even know me.”

Pat laughs lightly, “I’m not too kind, I’m just practical.”

“What part of giving your last drop of water away is practical?”

“The part where it stops you collapsing on me. I told you.” Pat finishes tying his boots and stands then, brushing some of the dust off his jeans, it’s pointless but he does it anyway.

Brian huffs a laugh. “Yeah, but Vinyl, why would you bother to carry me around. Why wouldn’t you just leave me? You don’t know me at all.”

“Jesus kid, is this your first week out here or something?” Pat’s tone is loud and shocked and it makes Brian’s eyes go wide and nervous again. _Fuck_ he doesn’t want the kid to think he’s an angry bastard. Besides, this kid did just seem to show up out of nowhere, what if it is?

Pat waits but Brian doesn’t respond just blushes and starts pulling his boots on. The frantic silence makes Pat more than a bit nervous so he asks, softer. “Shit, kid, is it?”

Brian looks up then, flustered, pushing his hair back from his face.

“No! It’s been almost a year now, maybe. Eight months? We were travelling through the wastelands in the South before we got here, it’s bad there with radiation, everyone out for themselves. People wouldn’t do that, and if they did they’d want something in return.” Brian explains in a rush. “Sorry– We’ve just– I’ve only been with Lau– I mean, Fizz and Oaty out here. We’ve just relied on each other, too many bad experiences.”

Pat never really thinks about what the rest of the country must be like these days. He’s heard rumors there’s some safe places in the Midwest, self sufficient communes that are uncorrupted by Better Living Industries. Apparently they escaped the worst of the radiation out there. Pat figures they must really have some impressive gun power if the government is just leaving them to their own devices.

Brian’s filled in the blanks of what’s happening down South, radiation and cut-throat survivalists. He bets there’s still a good dose of corruption going on down there too, he remembers it starting before the Analog Wars even broke out. People building bunkers and getting them “blessed” by priests, saying everyone who paid for a space would be guaranteed a safe transfer into heaven, if humanity didn’t make it through the coming apocalypse.

The East Coast is just gone. Pat knows that. It disappeared with no explanation about a year before he left the city. The final disaster of the Analog Wars. He remembers the announcement in the daily news broadcast. _In other news tonight, the entire East Coast is gone! Have a pleasant day, don’t forget to take your pills and remember – keep smiling!_

They’d all just accepted it at the time, like it was possible for a whole coastline to just disappear without a reason. He doesn’t know which states would have been wiped out, or what would have happened to his parents back in Maine.

Pat tears away from his thoughts when he realises the kid is looking at him, biting his lip, waiting for some sort of reaction.

“Oh, right.” Pat pushes his hair back from his face, stalling for time. “Well, you can trust me. I know I’m just some random guy, but really, you can. It’s not like it was down South here at least, nearly everyone out here knows we only stand a chance of living if we look out for each other.”

“I guess I can trust you Vinyl.” He says it in that soft voice again as he looks up from finishing tying his boots. It’s almost the same tone he spoke in as he confessed his secrets to the darkness last night.

Pat doesn’t want to dwell on it; the confession, what happened at the Nest, how innocent this kid seems despite what must have happened in his past. He throws his backpack on and claps his hands together, like disturbing the silence will be enough to change the mood. “Let’s get going then Spark. We’ve gotta find some supplies and get away from where we left that bike.”

Brian stands up and smiles, warm and genuine, even though his eyes still look tired. “Yeah. The sooner we get sorted, the sooner I can get out of your hair and back to Fizz.”

Pat knows it’s not a good idea for them to head back to the Nest anytime soon, not for the next day or so at least, even traveling through the inner zones will be risky if Dracs have been sent out to look for them specifically.

But he doesn’t want to tell the kid that yet. He might not have to if they get held up out here anyway, there might be trouble in the outer zones they have to deal with first, they might not be able to find any supplies out here that easy. It’s always best to take everything one step at a time when you never know what could be thrown at you.

They head out into the dust, Pat hopes they can find some supplies before the middle of the day, it’s never good wandering around under the sun at its brightest. That’s how you go crazy, looping in dehydrated circles, hoping someone will appear to guide you back to wherever you’re crashing for the moment.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Judy’s Donuts is the only building on the horizon and they start heading towards it, it’s a good way in the distance. Pat knows that’s around the border of Zone Four and Five, it’s the direction he doesn’t want to head in, but there’s nothing else to head towards.

There’s nothing to do apart from talk as they’re heading there, Pat starts conversation, he’s desperate to know any details this kid has about what was going on out in the wider world before he ended up in the zones. “So, travelling through the South from where?”

“Hmm? Oh. Baltimore.”

“Is Baltimore still there? I thought the whole East Coast went kaput like five years ago?” Pat tries to extinguish the ember of hope that Maine could still be out there, that his parents could still be okay. Or living a life better than his at least.

“Oh yeah it did.” Brian sighs, presses a hand to his brow. “We left when I’d just turned eighteen I think, or maybe just before I was eighteen. I didn’t even want to leave, didn’t believe the rumors that they were just going to wipe out a whole chunk of the country. Didn’t think they even physically could. Lau– _shit_ –Fizz got me blackout drunk, waited until I passed out and shoved me in her car with Oaty. Just started driving the fuck out of there, by the time I woke up it was too late to turn back.”

“ _Shit._ ” Pat doesn’t know what else to say, honestly.

“Yeah.” There’s a silence that hangs between them, and there’s a lot more questions Pat wants to ask about the East coast, but he doesn’t want to dredge up bad memories. He does the math in his head, Brian’s older than he thought he was, but only just.

“I was from the East Coast.” Pat says after a few more steps in silence. “Maine. Do you know if that disappeared along with everything else?"

Brian shrugs a little and bites his lip. “Yeah. Sorry.” Pat nods and tries not to think about his parents, the friends he went to school with, the kids who grew up on his street.

Brian walks a little closer and bumps their shoulders together, giving Pat a small solemn smile, trying to be a little comforting, or at least signal that they’re in it together.

Brian starts talking again, “So, how’d you end up out here? I drifted through the South trying not to get picked off by paranoid maniacs or bitten by vicious mutant coyotes. What were you up to?”

Pat laughs a little, he really hopes the mutant coyotes are an exaggeration. “I don’t have a dramatic backstory, I just left the city.” He tries to move the conversation on. “I moved out here, well, not here–” Pat gestures to the empty desert around them. “I moved out to California after college. I’d studied film, thought I could make it as a director.”

“That’s cool.” Brian’s eyes light up a little when Pat looks across at him. “Did you ever direct anything?”

“Apart from my senior thesis film… No.” Pat laughs. “I started working as a sound recordist on a soap opera. Holding boom mics, checking levels, all the really glamorous Hollywood stuff.”

“So you weren’t just any random guy bootlegging our gig. You’re a real professional.” Brian’s smile is bright then, and Pat can’t help but mirror it as he laughs.

“Something like that, at least.”

They talk about Pat’s past as they walk, even though it’s usually the last thing Pat wants to talk about, but he figures he can talk around the bad memories anyway, keep things simple.

Brian asks him about where he went to college, what his favourite movies were, why he chose California over New York. All the easy stuff for a while, and Pat’s glad for it. Brian doesn’t even try to shake the story of how he left the city out of him, or what made him realise he had to leave.

The conversation dies off after Brian starts asking about the pills they give out in the city, and if Pat was taking them.

Better Living Industries couldn’t pass the legislation to make them mandatory for all citizens on the East coast, Pat guesses that’s why it was destroyed. _I don’t really wanna talk about that, sorry kid. It wasn’t nice. Or, it was fine if you didn’t question it, and then when you questioned it everything got worse._ Brian had just nodded, with a small _sorry Vy._

Pat doesn’t want conversation to die out completely though, so he changes the topic.

“So, how’d you get the name Spark?”

He laughs then, turning to Pat. “Some people say it’s because I’ve got such sparkling eyes.” Brian leans his chin against his fist and bats his eyelashes. Pat flounders to respond, would he say that? Maybe he would, they were definitely sparkling when Brian was jumping about on stage. Brian laughs again. “Nah, I used to put loads of glitter in people’s birthday cards, just to be annoying. My siblings started calling me sparkles when I was pissing them off. We just made it a little cooler.”

Pat doesn’t miss how Brian said siblings, he knows Fizz is his sister. But Oaty isn’t his brother, Pat doesn’t think so anyway, Brian never introduced him like that on stage. He doesn’t ask.

“Aww, Sparkles.” Pat laughs.

“I regret giving you that information already.” Brian laughs too, bright and wonderful. “What about you, how’d you get Vinyl?”

“I packed a few records in my bag when I left the city, stupid really, vinyl is a bitch to carry around. Plus, I never knew if I’d find a way to listen to them again.”

Pat remembers them weighing him down, wasting space in his bag that he could have used for food. He didn’t care as long as he had those records. They meant everything to him. “Cherri Cola found me dehydrated and delirious, trying to make some money running errands for Tommy Chow Mein. He’d seen the records in my bag and took me in, said he couldn’t stand to see records not being put to use, and I was never going to find a record player on my own out here. He introduced me to Dr. D as Vinyl. It’s stuck ever since.”

“And you got to listen to your records again?”

“I did.” Pat smiles.

Brian gushes a little then. “It’s crazy that you work for Dr. Death Defying. We only found out this place wasn’t like the South when Fizz had been messing with a radio and we heard his show. It was the first time we’d heard music that we weren’t playing for ourselves in months.” Brian laughs a little at the memory. “We went wild, dancing around until we could barely breathe.”

Pat laughs too imagining it, he can remember how he’d jumped around like a teenager when he’d first discovered a party at the Nest. “Dr. D would love that story. Shit like that is the whole reason he does the show.”

He can imagine the first night the three of them would have ventured out to a gig after hearing Dr. D promote it on the show, finding out the desert isn’t all bad and there are actually some people out here finding ways to have a good time.

“It’s so important, the work he does. The work you do with him, recording bands, getting the message out there. Letting people know that there’s people out there who aren’t just accepting the fate we’ve been given, that there’s still people who want to fight back.” As Brian speaks his voice slips into a different tone, almost commanding, very sure of himself. He slips out of it after a second. “And you knew Cherri Cola too – someone told me about him – didn’t he fight with the Killjoys?”

Pat doesn’t like the kids tone skating dangerously close to excitement, he knows where this is going. His jaw clenches for a second. “Yeah. Practically was a Killjoy, just didn’t try and invade the city with them.”

“God, that’s _crazy_ , did you know the Killjoys then?” Brian’s voice is full of awe. Like Pat knew his favourite band or something. He knows they’re portrayed as heroes, but they were just four dudes, four dudes with a deathwish as far as he was concerned.

“Yeah, saw them around a bit. I’ve always kept myself to myself so… didn’t know them that well. Recorded them a few times.”

“What were they like?”

“They were just four regular dudes, Spark. They weren’t special, or extra-ordinary, they were just regular dudes who hung onto their hopes too much to be sensible.” There it is again, the harsh tone that sneaks into his voice far too often. “Sorry kid, I don’t know if you thought they were heroes or something, but they weren’t.”

Next to him Brian shrinks a little, looks a bit lost after hearing Pat say that. “No, I know, I don’t think they were superheroes or anything. But, they were willing to risk it all to try and save everyone, they were using their music to inspire people. We heard their music when we were somewhere in Texas, before we knew anything about what was happening in the Zones. They’ll go down in history.”

Pat sighs, and really does try to push the anger out of his voice this time. This doesn’t need to be an argument. “They’ll go down in history as evil, corrupted rebels who wanted to disturb the peace, Better Living are probably already teaching that to city kids in school. We don’t get to write history kid, we’re out here in the desert like we barely exist.”

The Killjoys were talented musicians, and they were great fighters, and they really did care about their big ideals and the greater good. But Pat was around when they were trying to drum up the revolution, when every friend’s death was talked about in terms of _the ends justify the means,_ and when fears for hurting civilians in the crossfire got shrugged off as collateral damage.

Pat knows the Killjoys as the people that led his best friend – the only close friend he ever had out here – Cherri Cola, straight to his death. Pat can remember pleading with him not to go and fight, that it was insane to even get that close to the city, even if he wouldn’t follow them inside. Cherri didn’t listen. Pat never saw him again.

“For now kids are being taught they’re evil, but Better Living can’t carry on forever. They’re not indestructible.” Brian’s voice is too confident, there’s some cheekiness there too, like he’s enjoying getting to bother a cynic. “You might not think it’s possible, but there’s hope. We can’t take the fight to them yet, but we can make them worried. We’ll keep getting stronger out here, keep winning fights when Dracs come around, keep writing music that makes them nervous. There’s a revolution brewing.”

“And you’re gonna be the one to lead it?” Pat practically scoffs. He’ll be glad when they’re at Judy’s Donuts and they can stop talking and look for supplies. He can’t listen to the kid talk about revolutions much longer.

“Maybe I am.” His voice is still confident, chest puffed out a little, but Pat knows there’s some bravado there. “Or at least I’m going to play a part in it, I can’t spend the rest of my life hiding away in some basement out in the desert. You saw everyone at the show, people are ready for it.”

“It’s like that at the Nest most nights.” This is a total lie, and Pat knows the kid will probably see straight through it. But he can’t have this kid believing he could be the saviour everyone’s been waiting for, and go running straight into the arms of death. “You write good songs, people can dance to them. It’s just music, don’t get carried away like the Killjoys did.”

“It’s never just music. How could you act like you don’t know that? You work for Dr. Death Defying and his illegal radio show.” It’s Brian’s turn to scoff at him now. “Your name alone proves it’s never just music. You carried around records without any way of listening to them, it was about what they represented.”

“I–” Pat knows he’s been beat when Brian says that.

He’s glad when Brian cuts off whatever bullshit he was going to try and come up with, speaking in a slightly sulky voice. “Whatever, I don’t want to argue about it. What records did you bring out here?”

They move back to the safer subject of what bands they’re into, and Pat is relieved that they can fall back into easy small talk as they carry on walking.

  
  
  
  
  
  


When they reach Judy’s Donuts Pat gets worried there’ll be nothing inside, the place seems deserted. Dust piled up with no signs of disturbance at all. There’s no spray paint on the door signalling anyone’s using this to crash, so Pat pushes the door open and heads inside, Brian following behind him.

It’s only a small place, three booths and a few stools at the counter, faded pictures of the different donuts they used to sell here all over the walls. It makes Pat’s stomach rumble, what he wouldn’t give to eat a donut right now. Mostly all the food out here is nutrition bars and tinned beans, he had a tin of peaches the other week, that was a real treat.

“What was your favourite donut?” Brian asks, picking up a laminated menu from the counter and running his fingers over the pictures almost reverently.

“I was always into jelly donuts, can take or leave chocolate, definitely never custard.” Pat looks over Brian’s shoulder at the menu, it’s almost torture to see the pictures.

Brian laughs. “Never custard. I agree with you there, I’m a simple glazed kinda guy.”

Brian puts the menu down and they start looking around for supplies, Pat leaving Brian to head into the back room. He finds a cupboard with a circle with a horizontal line through it painted on the front, he calls back to Brian as he throws the doors open. “There’s stuff!”

Brian rushes in. “Anything good?”

“Plenty of water. Some food. The usual.” Pat grabs a big bottle of water from the shelf and opens it, taking a long drink before passing it over to Brian, who makes a little cheers motion before he gulps some down.

Pat swings his backpack off his back, moving things around to make room for another water bottle. He pulls the smaller bottle he already has out and refills it, he throws a few nutrition bars and batteries in his bag before turning back to look at what’s in the tins. Dog food. Yikes, no thanks.

Brian is looking into the cupboard, biting his nails a little nervously. “Hey, Vy, I don’t have a bag to carry anything if we split up now… I…”

Pat’s voice is calm when he cuts Brian off, he doesn’t want to have an argument about what the plan is now, and send the kid storming off without him. “We’re not splitting up just yet, we should try and stay out of the inner zones for a bit, let things cool down after what happened. We stand a better chance if we stick together further out.” He tries to sound reasonable and confident, like this is really the only smart option.

Maybe it is. Pat thinks it is. Maybe the kid would be fine if he went off on his own, he’s probably tougher than Pat’s giving him credit for. But Pat is horribly self aware of the pain he’ll feel in his chest if Brian leaves and he never sees him again.

“Okay.” Brian’s voice is still nervous and he hesitates before speaking again. “But when we do, how am I going to be able to–”

“I can help with that no problem, pass over that hoodie.” Pat reaches his hand out and Brian unites the red hoodie from his waist and hands it over.

Pat lays it out flat on the worktop, turning back to the cupboard to grab a bottle of water and some nutrition bars, he puts them in the middle of the hoodie before folding the bottom over them. Pulling the hood around to hold everything together and tying the strings around to make a secure little parcel of stuff. He ties the sleeves together and holds it out to Brian with a smile.

“Voila. A makeshift bag.” Brian smiles wide and laughs a little.

“That’s amazingly resourceful.” He loops it over his shoulder and poses with it a little as Pat rips open a nutrition bar. “Thanks Vy.”

“No worries.” Pat responds with his mouth full and hands another from the cupboard over to Brian.

He’s pushing the cupboard closed when Brian motions to the paint on the door. “I’ve seen those symbols all over, what do they mean? There’s other ones too, a circle with a cross through, a triangle.”

“Circle with a horizontal line means these were left here in a supply drop. Take what you need but obviously, don’t take all of it. Circle with a vertical line means it’s been left for someone specific, if you stumble across it, you probably shouldn’t take anything. Circle with a cross in it means it’s a supply drop that a lot of people use, don’t take much. Triangle means someone’s using this as storage, you shouldn’t touch it.”

Brian’s face looks a bit panicked at that, hands reaching quickly to push his hair back nervously. “God. We’ve been taking whatever we found. Even from places with triangles. _Shit._ We’ve been straight up stealing from people.”

Pat shrugs. “Things aren’t black and white. You didn’t know the code existed, you needed food and water to survive, what else were you supposed to do?”

“God. I don’t know. Find a way to make money and buy stuff.”

“Eh, it’s overrated.” Pat laughs and Brian only looks more panicked in response. “What? It is. First few months out here I was running around like a headless chicken into stupid situations trying to make a few carbons. Not worth it.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


They head out of the donut shop and start heading in the direction Pat thinks is north, honestly, he can’t orient himself as well this far out. He figures if they go north they won’t be heading back towards the inner zones, but they should find more buildings and maybe some people, they can find out what’s happened since the attack.

They fall back into conversation as they walk, talking about meaningless nothings, Pat’s avoiding anything that could end up back at revolution chat. He’s shocked by how how much time they spend laughing at dumb jokes, bouncing off each other with ridiculous bits as they walk.

They’ve been walking for maybe an hour when the wind picks up, shaking up all the dust and making it impossible to see further than twenty paces in front of them. The sun is getting to its highest point in the sky and Pat is praying for somewhere to appear out of the dust for them to duck inside for a while.

It takes a little more walking, very slowly with the wind pushing against them, but Pat’s wishes are answered. Well, kind of. As the outline of a building appears in front of them, they start to hear laser fire and shouting.

Brian throws Pat a worried look. “Vy, I don’t have a gun.”

“It’ll be fine, we’ll stay hidden. The dust storm might work in our favour.”

They carry on heading towards the building, pressing close to the wall as they follow the noise. Pat pulls his gun out of his holster and pushes Brian back a little, trying to signal that he should stay behind him.

They peer their heads around the corner to see what’s going on. There’s a civilian car, new, not covered in spray paint – must be the car that got out of the city yesterday.

Two Dracs dead on the floor. One still shooting. Four civilians, but ones already got a Drac mask on, pinning another to the floor by the throat. The other two are torn between trying to pull the Drac mask off them and shoot at the other. They’re clumsy with the guns, like they’ve never shot one before.

Pat’s got a clean shot from here, and the Drac hasn’t seen him. There’s no point hesitating or giving his position away. He doesn’t wait to fire his gun, and in a second the Drac drops to the floor. Everyone’s still too preoccupied with the person in the Drac mask to even look over to where the shot came from.

They can’t get the mask off. Pat knows it’s too late. This is going to be rough.

Pat steps out from around the corner and runs towards them, gun pointed at the person with the Drac mask on.

Everyone sees him then, one man running over to him, shouting “Don’t shoot!” as he tries to tackle Pat, but just ends up with his arms wrapped around Pat’s torso slightly holding him back.

“They’re going to kill her!” Pat yells, looking at the woman on the floor. She’s young, and she’s starting to go blue under the newly turned Drac’s grip. Pat looks the man in the eyes, he looks tired, scared. “The mask has taken over. It’s too late.”

The urgency must show on Pat’s face. The man drops his arms from Pat’s body. “Really?” He asks in a quiet voice. “That fast?”

“Really.” Pat answers solemnly.

The man sighs and tears up. His voice cracks when he shouts, “Jamie get back.”

The woman trying to pull the Drac off the other looks up, slightly confused, before she steps away. Again, Pat doesn’t hesitate. It’s not pleasant and he hates doing this, feels sick as he lines up the shot. He fires his gun and hits the Drac clean in the head, it drops to the ground and the woman who was pinned underneath takes gasping breaths for air.

The man runs over to her and pulls her into a hug. Pat notices Brian has appeared at his side, he’d forgotten Brian was here a little bit. He looks shocked, pale, maybe a little bit horrified. “Vinyl…”

Pat cuts him off, his voice quiet. “What else could we do? Let it kill her?” Brian doesn’t respond, just looks over to the others. They’re crying, heaped together on the ground. “We should stay here for a while, help them out. They’ve only just got out of the city, they won’t know what’s going on out here.”

Brian just nods in response, still staring at the body on the floor.

Pat gives them a few moments before he goes over to the people heaped together, apologises for what he had to do and shares his sympathies.

The woman who was pinned to the floor throws her arms around his neck and cries into his shoulder confessing with a shuddering breath “We have no idea how we’ll manage out here.”

Pat rubs her back. “You’ll have help, it’s easy to stay hidden away out of trouble out here. It just takes some getting used to.” She pulls back from Pat wiping at her eyes, and the man clasps a hand on his shoulder.

Pat offers them some water from his backpack and introduces himself and Spark, they tell him how they couldn’t take the pills anymore and had to get away.

How they’d floored it out of the city and drove until they got here, this abandoned building, shocked that they were still alive. Knowing it was only a matter of time before the government caught up to them.

They’re emotional and panicked still, but eager to hear any advice on surviving so Pat starts to explain how things work out here, where they can get supplies, who’s selling things in the inner zones on what days, and anything else he can think of.

“You guys should go inside, get out of the sun now it’s at its hottest.” Pat suggests. They nod, if a little blankly at him, and go inside, Brian is still restless at his side.

Pat walks over to the Drac on the ground, picking up the gun and checking it’s got charge before handing it over to Brian.

Brian puts it in his holster and shifts on his feet uncomfortably. “Hey, Vinyl, you think we should get out of here now?”

He looks up at Brian from where he’s crouched next to the woman who had the Drac mask on. “Why? What’s the rush?” He fiddles with the mask a bit before pulling it off her head, shoving it deep in his backpack and pressing her eyes closed gently.

“I need to get back to Zone Two, find Fizz, find Oaty.” Brian sighs. “I know… I know these people need help Vy, but… It’s not your responsibility to help them.”

“Right, so whose is it?” Pat stands back up and walks back over to Brian with annoyance written all over his face, Brian only stammers in response. “It’s everyone’s responsibility to help each other. I get that you got out here and made it on your own, but not everyone can figure things out.”

“Yeah, but they’ve got each other right? We can find someone and send them back to help?”

“I just had to shoot one of their friends in the head, Spark. So maybe I’d like to do what I can to help them out.” He huffs a sigh and shakes his head a little, it makes Brian shrink. He can’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. “You think your brilliant revolution will happen, but you’re all just dancing and singing about big ideals, it should be about actually helping people.”

“Sorry. I didn’t…” Brian trails off.

“I get that you want to get back to them, I really do, but I don’t think it’s going to be safe to rush back yet.” Pat starts walking towards the building. “You can leave, I mean, I’m not stopping you. I don’t want you to, we stand a better chance heading back together. But I’m not abandoning these guys.” He pushes the door open and walks inside, trying to push down how much he hopes Brian will follow.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Pat’s heart sinks when he walks through the door and sees two young girls with the adults, they’re all sitting curled up against one another, leaning against the wall. He hopes they didn’t see what happened. _Fuck,_ he hopes that wasn’t their mom. They can’t be older than twelve. Brian steps into the building behind him and breathes a small _oh, fuck_ , when he sees them too.

Pat gives them space, goes to the table and starts rummaging in his backpack until he finds some paper and starts to draw out a map. The adults come over after a while and Pat starts explaining everything he can remember that’s in the desert, as well as writing down some names of anyone he thinks could help them.

He starts drawing out the main Drac patrol routes on the map and asks them if they’ve got a gun. Yes, but they never used it before, so Pat offers some help teaching them to shoot.

Pat heads back outside with them leaving Brian with the girls, he tries to remember everything he’d struggled with when he first got out here, all the things Cherri taught him that made his life so much easier. After a while of shooting practice Pat tries to run through anything else he can think to teach them that could help.

It takes longer than he expects, he has so much more to teach them than he expects, and when the sun is starting to dip lower in the sky his stomach starts yelling at him to eat something.

“We should grab some food.” He suggests, standing from where he was teaching them how to rig a simple trip wire. “I’ve got enough nutrition bars to go around.”

“We’ve got food we left the city with, you should eat with us.” The older woman offers.

Pat’s not usually one to accept payment for basic kindness, but the idea of real food is too good to resist so he smiles and nods. “Yeah, that’d be amazing. Thanks so much.”

When they head back inside Brian is sat with the kids, playing guitar and singing with them. He blushes when they all come back in, putting down the instrument and moving over to where they’ve started pulling food out of a suitcase.

“Spark don’t stop.” The one girl whines, following after him and tugging his hand. “Mom he knows all the Disney songs!”

“Does he!” She smiles down at the girl, smoothing her hair, before looking up at Brian. “I don’t want to make you sing for your supper, but if you know anything from Lion King I’d love to hear it.”

Brian blushes and smiles. “Yeah, I know stuff from Lion King.” His voice is small, soft.

“You can sing Lion King for us then!” The girl starts pulling him back towards her sister. “We know those songs too.”

Pat watches as Brian goes back and starts debating with the girls which song they should sing first, their mom turns back to Pat. “Spark seems lovely, you guys fit together well – really balance each other out.” She gives Pat a look he can’t read, and he wants to correct her and say that he only met the kid yesterday, but he can’t find the words. “Crazy what you’ll pack when you’re about to go on the run. A guitar is hardly a survival necessity.”

“Life’s not only about surviving. Even out here, you still have to live.” Pat replies, but he can’t tear his eyes away from Brian singing Hakuna Matata with a grin spread across his face.

Has he spent five years living or surviving? He’s not sure. Pat thinks it probably sways more to survival, he should fix that, when he gets a chance.

Dinner is nothing objectively fancy, but it feels like it could be the most luxurious banquet Pat will ever get to experience again before he dies. They make some cheese and tomato sandwiches, cut up some apples and share out a big bag of chips. Brian comes over to sit by Pat when it’s ready, but the girls have other ideas, and they want Brian to sit between them. Pat tries not to focus on the small pang of _something_ he feels in his chest, or the way their mom says _girls, you can’t steal Spark from Vinyl forever._

There’s homemade chocolate cake too. _Figured this might be the last cake I ever bake!_ The younger woman says with a small laugh but it’s hollow and Pat can feel the sadness in her voice.

It is a brilliant cake though and Pat doesn’t refuse a second piece when it’s handed to him.

They finish their food and talk quietly, everyone looks exhausted and Pat imagines they haven’t slept at all since they escaped. He doesn’t think he got more than an hour or two a night if he was lucky for the first few weeks out here.

Last night they were probably too paranoid, too on edge over what could happen in the dark, or maybe they didn’t find this place until this morning after driving around all night.

Pat shares his memories of sleepless nights with the guy, and asks if they’d sleep better tonight knowing they had a look out. The guy nods enthusiastically, confessing they haven’t managed more than a few hours sleep between them over the past few days. Worried about what could happen to the girls more than anything.

He waits until the group has split up a little, finding spaces to settle for the night, before going over to where Brian is tidying up a little and speaking quietly. “Hey, I know you wanted to get out of here. But, I think we should stay tonight, be look outs so they can get some sleep.”

“Yeah of course.” Brian’s voice is soft and his eyes flick over to the girls, curled up chatting against a bean bag they found in one of the back rooms. “You were right. Earlier. About helping people. I just…”

Brian trails off and Pat wants to touch his face, to smooth his thumb along the stubble starting to show on Brian’s jaw. Instead he just rests his hand on Brian’s shoulder. “Yeah, I know.” Pat looks over to the girls too. “Come on, the roofs flat and there’s a ladder up to there. It’ll be cold but it’s the best spot to look out from. We’ll take turns to sleep.”

Pat heads up to the roof before Brian, the girls just want him to sing _one_ more song to them so they can fall asleep, but with the time it takes Brian to get up there they must have got three or four out of him. When Brian does climb up onto the roof he’s brought the guitar with him, _I’ll need something to do when it’s my turn to stay awake_ he explains.

Brian unties the makeshift tote bag and pulls on his hoodie. “I’m sure I’ll make a mess of turning that back into a bag tomorrow.”

Pat laughs somewhat fondly, passing Brian the sleeping bag he has. “That’s fine I’ll help. You’re sleeping first.”

Brian doesn’t argue, just climbs inside the bag and sits down, Pat throws the other blanket over to him. He shimmies his body a bit closer to Pat’s as he settles.

“I’ll wake you in a few hours, or if anyone shows up.” Pat can just about make out Brian nodding as he yawns inside the sleeping bag.

It’s a clear night, there’s no dust storms rolling through the desert and Pat can see the stars. He’s not tired, so it’s not too difficult to stay awake. He looks up at the sky and tries to remember the names of constellations, he was really into all that stuff as a kid, used to love looking up and finding Orion watching over him.

He used to look up at the stars like this with Cherri. They’d get drunk until they couldn’t stand or could barely understand each other through their slurs, and pass out looking up to the swirling stars above them.

Brian starts snoring quietly after a while and Pat can’t help himself, he’s getting bored and his eyes keep wandering over to the guitar. He hasn’t tried to play guitar in years, he doesn’t know if he’d remember anything. He pulls it onto his lap as quietly as possible and starts pressing his fingers to the strings. Holding down what he thinks is a G chord and strumming it quietly with the pad of his thumb.

He’s moving through a few other chords he remembers when he hears Brian’s quiet sleepy voice. “There I was putting on a one man show and turns out you’re a secret guitar player Vy.”

Pat chuckles softly. “Nah. Used to play a bit, wasn’t much good. Cherri started to teach me when I got out here, nothing better to do most of the time.”

Brian hums in agreement. Pat can’t make out his face in the darkness, he thinks Brian’s eyes are still closed. “I’m sorry about earlier. My revolution bullshit, I guess you were here when it all went wrong before. Lost people to it.”

“Yeah… It’s okay.” Pat sighs and lets himself strum what he thinks is an E chord, it doesn’t sound right so he moves his index finger down a string and tries again. That’s it. “I’m just a miserable cynical bastard. Don’t worry about me.”

He can see Brian prop himself up on an elbow then. “For a cynical bastard you sure do believe in trusting and helping people a whole lot.” He thinks he can see a smile on Brian’s face, but he’s not sure. God dammit, why is he left feeling so vulnerable around this kid. “Play me a song.” Brian’s voice is breathy and hopeful.

“I’m not much of a singer, Spark.”

“So play something I know and I’ll sing along.”

“You know the Killjoys songs then I take it?” Pat asks, and he wishes he could be more annoyed that their songs are the only ones he ever really learnt. He wishes he didn’t feel his palms sweating against the guitar or his heart ready to beat out of his chest.

He starts strumming and Brian makes a sound of approval when he picks up on the chord pattern, sitting up to sing. Pat tries to focus on playing and not think about how Brian’s pressed against him slightly, or how soft Brian’s voice is in his ear.

**_Move your body when the sunlight dies,_ **

**_Everybody hide your body from the scarecrow._ **

Pat even joins in singing after the first chorus. Brian nudges him slightly and leans his head on Pat’s shoulder. Pat’s glad old muscle memory has seemed to have kicked in, because he can’t give his full attention to playing the right thing.  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the second chapter, I’m a bit iffy about it but think it’s just because I didn’t look at it for two ways when I was on holiday. If anything feels strange please let me know. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always super appreciated if you wanna leave some! 
> 
> (come chat to me on tumblr if you wanna - thekilljoysdied)


	3. Are we still having fun?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Poison was right when he said you gotta stay ugly. It’s the ultimate act of defiance. Fuck the pretty people man, ugly’s where it’s at.”
> 
> “No wonder you like my company.” Pat laughs, and Brian scrunches up the nutrition bar wrapper to throw at Pat’s head.
> 
> “Shut up Vinyl.” Brian rolls his eyes. “You’re ugly in the hot way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter... maybe I should have split it in half? 
> 
> As always thanks to fishcola for providing wonderful feedback and encouragement <3

Pat wakes up shivering with his hips aching against the hard floor beneath him,  _ roof _ , he remembers, as his brain flicks through memories of yesterday. He shifts around in his sleeping bag and opens his eyes. Brian’s sat close to him, arms hugging his knees. He flicks his gaze away from Pat when he sees him awake, blushing slightly. 

“Morning.” Pat croaks as he wakes up properly. Pushing himself to sit up. The sun hasn’t started to rise on the horizon yet, the desert is still wrapped in a blanket of cool blue. “All good?” 

“Mmm,” Brian hums, “cold is all.” 

Pat’s the same, even though he’s wrapped up in the sleeping bag. That’s what’s so torturous about the desert, there’s maybe four hours a day of comfortable temperatures – just after sunrise and before sunset. The rest of the time you’re baking in the sun, or freezing under the stars. 

He wants to wrap an arm around Brian, to pull their bodies together and justify it with being practical about sharing body heat. But he doesn’t, instead they watch the sunrise together in silence and Pat can’t believe the feelings that have started curling into his chest and squeezing around his heart since he met Brian.

He never thought he’d have feelings like this again, never thought there’d be a chance he’d meet someone who could make him feel like this again. He always figured the world out here in the dust was too rough for feelings like these, figured he’d always be too busy trying to survive to get caught up on someone.

Brian shifts at some point and his hand ends up resting next to Pat’s on the roof. Pat tries to ignore where their fingertips brush against one another, tries to forget how his heart was hammering in his chest as Brian leaned against him singing last night. 

When Pat can hear movement going on in the building beneath them, he says  _ come on _ and nudges Brian slightly for them to head back downstairs. 

The Bat City escapees are already packing up their things and getting ready to move on. Pat’s glad for that, they’ll be able to handle themselves and keep the girls safe, as long as they’re prepared to keep moving. Pat told them not to settle for a while yet anyway, not until the government give up on rounding them up, but Pat can’t guess how long that’ll be.

As soon as they walk through the door the young girls rush over to Brian, asking when they’ll see him again and if he’s coming with them. He crouches down to their level and speaks in a soft voice as he smooths out their hair.  _ You’ll see me around. I’ve got to get back to my sister.  _

They all head off not long after that, after some hugs and thank yous and double checking with Pat they’ll be heading in the right direction. They leave the car keys on the table, setting off on foot towards the outer zones. 

Pat knows him and Brian need to get ready to move on themselves, they can’t hang around here for much longer. 

“Listen, I know you want to get back to your sister as soon as possible, but we can’t head back to the inner zones from here. Not when Dracs will be racing out of the desert towards that car.” Pat’s voice is reasonable, authoritative. He tries to affect the same voice he would use on set when he needed to  _ calmly _ tell someone who was much more important than him to stop fucking with the sound equipment. 

“Yeah I figured.” Brian shoves his hands in his hoodie pockets, Pat remembers he has to turn that back into a knapsack before they set off. “At least we can take the car, get out of the way for a bit, then make it back to Zone Two in a day, no problem. Or I’m guessing it will be safer at night?”

Pat stares at him, dumbfounded.

“Spark. You can’t actually– Are you fucking serious? We can’t take the car.”

“Why, the guy left the keys and gave you that  _ meaningful look, _ we can totally take the car. He wanted us to take the car, it’s not stealing.”

Pat laughs at that. “I’m not worried about stealing a fucking car. I’m worried about bringing more attention to ourselves.”

“Nah. We’ll be out of the way, find some place to hide for a bit, rush back at night. Tomorrow night if it will make you feel safer.” Brian is being so casual about this that Pat thinks he might scream at the kid if he doesn’t bite his lip. His expression still might be giving him away a bit. Brian gives a little sigh of frustration before he asks, “What’s the issue?”

“You’ve got a giant bounty on your head, and that specific car is being hunted down – I don’t understand how you could think that’s a good idea. The second that car shows up on security drone footage there’ll be Dracs racing to shoot you dead.” Pat’s voice is pitched high, a mix of horror and frustration and disbelief that _ taking the fucking car _ could even be a suggestion. 

Brian’s face falls and he looks awkward, nervous, like a kid in a play who forgot his lines. Like he’s running out of ways to keep up the bravado and confidence. Of course Pat knows it’s all for show, he heard Brian confess his fears into the darkness, but he’s not about to call the kid out on it. Brian bites at his lip and runs his hand through his hair, taking a deep breath before he looks at his watch and starts counting on his fingers. 

Pat doesn’t pick up the exact number he counts to but he guesses Brian’s counting how many hours they’ve been gone, trying to work out where Fizz and Oaty will be out looking for him now if they’re okay, what kind of fate they’ve met if not. 

Pat hasn’t had a watch in years, let alone bothered trying to keep track of time. He never wore one when he escaped to the desert, so he shrugged off the whole time-keeping thing pretty quickly. People mostly go by rough times of the day now, you can only arrange to do something at dawn, dusk, or midday really. Everything else is blended together. 

Brian presses the heel of his hand to his forehead, almost as if in pain for a moment as he heaves a deep breath. Resigning himself to the idea that he won’t be out of this situation as fast as he wants to be, that he’s stuck with Pat’s anxious tendencies a little longer. 

He sighs again, but it’s not angry, it’s soft and a little defeated, “Right, so how long do you think it will be ‘til we can head back?”

Pat tips his head to the side thinking. “Honestly kid, if I was alone, I'd hang out in the outer zones for a week. Start heading back then, wait until I’ve bumped into a few people to ask if Drac patrols have returned to normal.” 

“A week…” Brian’s voice is small and he fidgets with his hands a bit, picking at his nails. 

“I get that you don’t want to be out here that long, I really do. And I’m not suggesting we stay out here that long.” Pat sighs, trying to work things out in his mind. “I’m saying we travel up through Zone 4 for a bit, see who’s around, see what information we can get. Wait three days before we head back, things should have moved on, Dracs should have some new orders to deal with.”

Things move on pretty fast most of the time out here, Dracs only ever seem to keep the same orders for a few days before they’re assigned new targets. Or at least, that’s how it seems. 

Sometimes Pat thinks BLI just wants to keep them all on their toes, keep everyone running and hiding as much as possible. It stops life becoming settled and consistent out here, no one really has a permanent home, nothing’s certain, survival never seems guaranteed.

“Three more days.” Brian closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

Pat shrugs. “It’s just a guess, we don’t know what’s happening out there or anything. We’ll see how things go, but yeah, three days, I think.” Pat moves towards Brian, places a hand on his shoulder, tries to be reassuring. “Which way did they go, when the Dracs showed up?”

Brian sniffs and Pat notices his eyes are getting teary. “Same way we went, they hid in one of the back rooms as I went to check if there was an exit. That’s when I ran into the Dracs you shot.” 

“The Dracs all chased after us though yeah? That hallway would have been clear if they came out looking for you afterwards. They would have known to stay hidden until it went quiet. Besides, you made it through the South together, I’m guessing they’re good in tricky situations?” Pat bites his lip, “I know hope is a double edged sword, but… there’s a good chance they made it out okay.” Pat notices Brian’s bottom lip quiver before he bites it, trying to hold back tears. 

The sun has completely risen over the horizon now, everything’s starting to warm up. It won’t be long until Drac patrols start, they need to leave. 

Pat tentatively pulls Brian into a hug because there’s nothing else he can think to say, there’s nothing else he can think to  _ do. _ Brian doesn't resist, he buries his face in Pat’s shoulder and wraps his arms around the older man’s waist, breathing a deep sigh. 

“Thanks.” Brian says after a moment, even though it’s kind of muffled by Pat’s jacket.

“Nothing to thank me for. I’m sorry you’re stuck with a paranoid old grump.”

Brian steps back then, wipes his eyes and smiles up at Pat a little. “Nah it’s okay. You don’t seem super old, it’s tolerable at least.”

Pat smiles back. “Come on, we’ve got to leave.”

They head off again in the direction Pat thinks is north, because Brian thinks the place he’s been crashing is towards the north of Zone Two, but honestly he’s not sure. It doesn’t really matter to Pat, at least it’s a direction they can start walking in. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


They’re heading North in hopes of finding people with some information as the sun rises higher into the sky, Pat’s glad he’s fallen into an easy rhythm with Brian, maybe that woman was right when she said they fit well together. 

They talk about nonsense as they walk. Brian’s dilemma about dyeing his hair whenever he finds someone selling hair dye, about how much he misses having his nails painted. Desert heat isn’t the best for preserving nail polish, and the two bottles he’d found traveling through the South have all dried up now. He holds his hands out to Pat, pointing out the three tiny specs of blue that still remain, that haven’t managed to chip off yet somehow. 

Pat talks about the best graffiti he’s seen out here, tells Brian how he needs to head out to the tower of shipping containers somewhere in Zone Three. It’s been spray painted with a giant mermaid, Pat doesn’t know how the crazy fuckers who did it would have got up to the top, but it’s brilliant. He talks about other landmarks out here, weird art or pop-up shops that appear in motel rooms, Brian hasn’t heard about any of them. He seems a bit embarrassed when he explains;  _ Honestly, we don’t get out much. Just the Nest – it was the only place we knew was safe.  _

Pat can’t believe Brian’s spent so much time hiding away from everything out here. He can still remember when he first got out of the city, there were a few weeks spent hiding and being terrified of course. But they passed as people helped him and took him in, and the excitement over a new life snuck into his bones. 

Pat knows Brian had a wildly different few years before he got out here compared to him. Brian endured years of being on the run, desperately trying to find somewhere safe, constantly having to avoid lurking evils. 

Besides, Brian seemed to have hit the jackpot when he got here, they found themselves in the north of the desert, a place that’s mostly dead now since supply runs don’t go out that far, and they’d found an abandoned house with a basement. The perfect place to hide out while you try to figure out if there’ll be people waiting to kill you at every turn. 

Brian’s years of constant hustle and stress are diametrically opposed to the grey auto-pilot life that Pat had been sinking deeper and deeper into back in the city. 

Years of only seeing the muted colours of business suits, seeing individualism made extinct, and swallowing a handful of pills each morning to keep you to schedule. Twelve hours of working, eight hours of sleeping, four hours to yourself – everyone reduced to who they are as an employee over anything else.

Before Pat made it to the zones he spent a few months living in the slums of the city with other outcasts and decommissioned droids, hiding in the shadows, scared to make a sound. So when he finally got past the city line, under the sun, he couldn’t stop exploring. He just felt so free. 

It didn’t matter if he could barely make enough money to get some scraps to eat most days, or if he was spending his time running for his life away from Drac patrols. He wasn’t trapped in a life he didn’t want to live anymore, things were finally interesting again.

Walking through the zones with Brian feels like he’s rediscovering all the things he’d forgotten about, all the magic of the desert that he couldn’t understand when he first got here. The art, the music, the colour, the kindness. He’s glad he gets to let Brian in on the secret that this place isn’t hell. He’s glad he gets to be one of Brian’s friends out here, passing on the lessons of the desert that Cherri passed on to him years ago. 

He remembers having friends in the city, but it was all small talk, they were all so numb on pills that it couldn’t be a real friendship. When he got out here and met Cherri, Legs, Dr. D, and even the Killjoys themselves, he felt like he had real friends who cared about him. Friends who wanted to know what big feelings were swirling around his heart, what made him angry, what made him scared, what made him want to punch the sky with joy. 

He wants to know all those things about Brian, wants to tangle their lives together because it just feels so  _ right _ . 

  
  
  
  
  
  


They’ve been walking for a few hours Pat supposes, the sun is high in the sky now, and although they’ve seen a few small shacks and trailers (all empty when they poked around for supplies inside), there hasn’t been much else around. 

Through the dust they can see the vague outline of another building not too far in the distance. “We should stop for a few hours, rest, eat, get out of the sun. All that good stuff.” Pat announces.

Brian hums in agreement and moves behind Pat to start unzipping his backpack, grabbing the bottle of water and taking a drink before passing it forward to Pat. 

Brian zips the bag up when they’re done and falls in time walking next to Pat again. “Wanna play the accent game?” He suggests after a moment. 

“What’s the accent game?” 

“Okay,” Brian says with a grin. “Me and Fizz used to play it. You pick something to head towards, pick an accent, talk in the accent until you get there.”

Pat laughs. “Okay, I’m not great at many accents though.”

  
  
  
  
  


 

They don’t  _ really _ manage to start playing the accent game before they get there. They’re trying to decide on an accent but keep getting distracted by trying to find the right tone for each one they pick, testing out different phrases and just trying to make each other laugh.

They start simple, Texan, but after a few phrases Brian’s laughing and telling Pat that his drifts into being more of a Florida thing. Brian can’t hit the Boston accent as well as Pat, and when Pat starts to get carried away with it, Brian complains through laughter  _ Nooo, Vyyy, we gotta pick one we can both hit.  _

They switch continent then, French is fun for both of them but it quickly descends into ridiculous  _ oh la la monsieur- _ s and guttural noises, German is fun as well, but Brian ends up sounding Swedish after a few minutes, even though he refuses to accept that fact when Pat tells him.

They’re a heap of giggles as they walk in winding lines, too busy throwing their heads back laughing and crashing into one another when an accent slips, or migrates to an entirely different country. 

Pat’s pressing his fingers to his cheeks by the time they’re almost there, wheezing at Brian’s serious attempt at a smooth British accent that quickly turned into a cockney orphan from the 1700’s  “Spark, stop. My face hurts.” Pat bumps his shoulder against Brian’s again, and Brian looks over at him with sparkling eyes and a grin across his face. “You sound like a character from a Charles Dickens book.”

“Please Sir, can I ‘ave some more?” Brian cups his hands and holds them out towards Pat, a perfect impression of Oliver Twist.

Pat shoves him away, starting to cough from laughing so hard. “If I die out here because some guy name Sparkles bad accent-ed me to death, I’m gonna be pissed.” 

He’s not angry though, his voice is full of fondness. When he looks up at Brian’s brilliant smile, so pure and joyful, his heart swoops in the same way it did when he was a teenager with a crush on a girl miles out of his league.

  
  
  
  
  
  


As they get closer, the building solidifies out of the dust clouds as a small bungalow, Pat guesses there won’t be a main supply drop inside, but they’re pretty stocked up on water still, so he’s not too worried. As they get closer he can see the black cat graffiti on the one wall, if Pat’s remembering things correctly there’s a Gas ‘N’ Gulp not too much further from here, they should be able to pick stuff up there. 

There’s no one in the building, but there’s signs someone stayed here last night. They walk past ashes of where a small bonfire was lit, and when Pat pushes the door open there’s fresh boot prints all throughout the building. It’s a relief to be inside, out of the sun, it’s only a bit cooler but at least it’s something. 

This place isn’t too wrecked either, there’s still most of the living room furniture intact and although there’s no beds in the back bedrooms, there’s workbenches and toolkits. Someone’s definitely been using this as a place to crash, and probably as a repair shop. 

Pat used to know a girl, Mobz, a total badass with an undercut who could fix anything, near enough. He wonders if this is her spot now, he knows she left Zone Two when Dracs were hunting her down. He took her one of Dr. D’s cassette players to repair once, back in her old place. Pat had showed up as she’d just repaired a pinball machine for the Nest, he ended up staying there all night drinking and playing pinball with her. 

Brian pokes around in a cupboard and finds a few bottles of water, he looks up to Pat. “We probably shouldn’t take these, right?”

“Yeah probably not.” Pat stops fussing with tools on the workbench. “Come on, you wanna nap on the sofa for a bit? You were up early taking second watch.”

Brian purses his lips thinking, before shaking his head no. “Don’t think so.”

They head back to the living room, Brian falls back against the sofa, untying the hoodie/tote bag he’s been carrying and taking a drink of water. Pat flops down next to him too, sighing as he scrubs his hands over his face. 

“I need a fucking wash.” Pat complains. 

Brian giggles. “Same. As always. The dust will only be everywhere again as soon as you wash it off though.” 

“I’m not even mad at the dust. I swear it like stops me sweating so much? I know that sounds dumb–”

“No there’s some logic there, like your pores are blocked or whatever. Like when people had Botox in their armpits so they couldn’t sweat or whatever.” 

Pat throws an arm over his face thinking about it “God, Better Living making certain plastic surgery a requirement for anyone in the entertainment industry. I remember that. What a fucking mess.” 

“How didn’t everyone see the signs of how fucked up things were getting?” Brian groans. “Like, hey if you want to conform to new and updated standards of attractiveness: just don’t sweat!”

“Just stop having normal bodily functions – no big deal!” 

They both grab a nutrition bar from on top of Brian’s hoodie between them and start eating, Brian breaks the silence after only a moment. 

“Poison was right when he said you gotta stay ugly. It’s the ultimate act of defiance. Fuck the pretty people man, ugly’s where it’s at.”

“No wonder you like my company.” Pat laughs, and Brian scrunches up the nutrition bar wrapper to throw at Pat’s head.

“Shut up Vinyl.” Brian rolls his eyes. “You’re ugly in the hot way.” 

Pat doesn’t respond but he can feel his face heating up at the comment. 

  
  
  
  


 

 

They sit quietly for a while, letting their exhaustion wash over them. Brian’s fidgeting to get comfy next to him when Pat hears him suck in a sharp intake of breath, like he’s in pain. Pat didn’t even realise his eyes had drifted closed until they fly open at the sound, Brian’s next to him, lifting his shirt to look at where he was almost hit the other night when they were running from the nest.

The skin is still an angry red.  _ “Shit!”  _ Pat rushes to drag his backpack over to him, digging around and pulling stuff out, leaving it in a pile on the sofa between them until he gets to the Dupe Goop. “You should have reminded me, Spark. You in much pain?”

“Not loads, it’s just uncomfy. It catches me when I lean on it sometimes.” 

Pat hesitates with the tub of Dupe Goop, trying to decide if he should hand the whole thing over, or help Brian and rub it in for him. After a second Brian takes the tub off him, unscrewing the lid and scooping some out to rub into his side. Of course, why would Pat need to apply it, it’s not like Brian can’t get it himself. 

He watches Brian smooth his fingers over the angry mark, sighing happily as it cools it down. Brian passes the tub back over to Pat when he’s finished, looking through everything else Pat had pulled out to find it. 

“You’re like Mary Poppins with that backpack.” Brian laughs, tracing his fingers over one of the sound recorders Pat pulled out, fiddling with the wind muffler for a microphone, his eyes light up when he spots a pack of cards. “Wanna play cards?”

It takes Pat a second to figure out what Brian means, he’s bent forward, organising things in the backpack so he can fit everything in. He turns and looks back at Brian, who’s already pulled them out of the box, shuffling them. God, how long have those even been in there? Pat doesn’t think he’s played cards in years. 

“I don’t think that’s a full deck.” Pat shrugs and carries on putting things away. 

“That’s fine. We’ll be able to play something without the full deck.” He’s looking at Pat with hope in his eyes.

“Sure, what games do you know?” 

Brian grins, “Go Fish?”

Go Fish turns out to be a terrible game to play when you don’t have a full deck of cards and can’t make full sets, but that’s okay, because it’s fun enough to just be playing something again. Pat wonders if the kid knows poker, there’s good poker games at the Nest sometimes, the kid would probably be into that.

The game spirals away from them as Brian starts introducing new rules, or modifying old ones. They can’t finish a few sets with the missing cards, so Brian introduces a ‘steal’ rule, then there’s also a ‘swap’ rule, Pat’s struggling to keep up.  _ We’re basically playing Calvinball now _ , Pat laughs after Brian tells him off for trying to steal a set without having a diamond, because obviously, that’s not how it works.  _ Calvincards, _ Brian corrects. 

The game ends up turning into something closer to Uno than Go Fish in the end, but there’s still no solid rules. Pat plays an eight and casually shrugs, “pick up eight, I guess.”

Brian’s eyes are filled with mischief as he puts another eight on top. He copies Pat’s overly casual tone. “Pick up sixteen, I guess.” 

Pat straight up grins as he plays the next eight on top of Brian’s, because there’s no way this was one of the few full sets. “Oh no baby boy, looks like you gotta pick up 24. Do we even have 24 cards there?”

Brian arches an eyebrow at Pat. “Don’t know, guess if I play the last eight you’ll have to pick up the whole deck yeah? Wouldn’t bother wasting your time counting.” 

Pat’s face drops in horror as Brian plays the final eight in the deck, and Pat cannot believe his crappy luck, that he managed to pick one of the numbers where it was an actual full set.

Brian must see the shock on Pat’s face because he’s laughing loudly, his body shaking with laughter until he’s tipping over onto his side, head resting against Pat’s thigh. Pat is very aware of how much time he’s spending trying and failing to push down the feelings that are blooming in his chest for this kid. 

  
  
  
  


 

 

They set off again then, Brian looks at his watch and it’s after three, Pat looks at how the sun has dipped a bit in the sky. They should be able to make it to the Gas ‘N’ Gulp long before it gets dark.

They walk a little quieter now, Brian with an energy Pat can’t pick up on next to him, Pat’s mind has started to race in the quiet, thinking about how he’s started feeling about Brian. 

Pat always knew he wasn’t straight, but the scales tipped towards women most of the time, and it was always safer to just be attracted to women – so he’s never really allowed himself to have these feelings for a guy. He’s never had these feelings without a long list of reasons why these feelings must be  _ wrong _ stacked against him. 

He had religious parents, and grew up in a town where everyone seemed to have narrow minded views, it was easier to ignore the feelings that would have sent him spiralling into anxiety about going to hell. God knows if he’d voiced them he only would have had his head kicked in. 

And then, by the time he was going away to college, Better Living Industries were already taking over the government, and being gay was well on its way to being outlawed again. So the chance he thought he would have had to experiment a bit was snatched away from him too. 

He’s left now at the ridiculous age of thirty two trying to work out what he’s supposed to do when he has a crush on a guy. Honestly, it’s been that long since he had romantic feelings at all, he thinks he would be just as out of his depth if he’d started to fall for a girl. 

He doesn’t even know if Brian likes dudes, and how could he ask that anyway? Being on the run with someone for a few days doesn’t open the floor to invasive questions about sexuality being okay. And besides–

“Are those body bags?” Pat’s shaken out of his thoughts by Brian’s voice. He follows Brian’s gaze across to the left, over towards the three white shapes on the ground. 

“Yeah. Dracs wrap the bodies up and then the Scarecrow units come out and pick them up later.” Brian veers off from the direction they’re walking in before Pat’s even finished speaking, speeding up as he heads towards them. 

“Spark!” Pat shouts after him but Brian isn’t listening, Pat has to break into a run to catch up. 

“What if it’s them. What if they were looking for me out here and got shot.” Brian’s voice is high with panic and Pat wants to tell him that this is a bad idea, but he’s certain Brian won’t be able hear him over the alarm bells that must be ringing in his head. 

Brian comes to a stop next to the body bags, there’s three of them, shiny white plastic zipped up down the middle, with Better Living Industries logos all over and warnings against being touched or moved by unauthorised personnel. 

Brian drops to his knees in the dust, his hands are shaking as he reaches over the first one, taking a deep breath. 

He opens it slowly, carefully. Pat is holding his breath until he can see it’s a face he doesn’t recognise. There’s no reaction from Brian either️, he quickly does the zip back up. 

He checks the next one, fingers still shaking as he pulls down the zip. Not his sister, not Oaty, no one they recognise. 

He shuffles over on his knees towards the last one and unzips it, faster than he did on the other two, no hesitating this time, even though his hands are still shaking. 

Brian gasps and Pat steps over to see, stomach almost dropping through the floor thinking about what this kid will do if he loses one of them now. Pat’s not sure if he would get upset or if the heartbreak would crystallise into something sharper, determined rage to take revenge maybe. 

Pat looks into the bag, it’s no one he recognises, but it is gruesome. Laser to the side of the head will leave your skull all sorts of messed up.

Brian’s hands are shaking more when he goes to zip it back up, fumbling with the zip for a few seconds before he gags. He gives up on the zip and stands, trying to back away from the body only to collide with Pat’s chest. The kid turns and looks up at him, his face pale and frightened, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly as he takes shuddering breaths. 

Pat crouches to zip the body bag up again, before standing and putting an arm around Brian’s shoulder, leading him away from the bodies. 

They walk like that for a while, Pat trying to ground and reassure Brian through touch like he knows he can’t convey with words. Only when Pat can’t feel Brian shaking under him anymore he drops his arm from Brian’s shoulder. 

“Sorry. Sorry. I’ve seen things worse– I don’t know why that– I just wasn’t expecting–”

Brian can’t find the right words to express what he needs to say, but Pat gets it. He’s seen all sorts of shit out here, he’s sure Brian saw worse travelling through the South, but some days it just hits you. Some days the finality of death and the vulnerability of human bodies and the brutality of life just pushes harder against your soul for some reason. 

“Don’t be sorry.” Pat’s voice is calm, soothing. “Some days it just hits you. Other days you can look at it and worry you’re losing your humanity because it doesn’t send you spinning into terror.”

“Yeah.” Brian’s voice is small again, and they’re back to walking, but now with a sombre mood spread over them.   
  
  
  
  


 

 

There’s wanted posters plastered all over the Gas ‘N’ Gulp when they get there, the ones of Spark and Fizz that they’d turned into concert posters are all over the side of the building. These haven’t been vandalised with glitter and hearts though, Pat wonders if they’re new. 

When they reach the building Brian steps up to the poster and traces his fingers over the image of Fizz. 

“When we first saw these show up at the diner near the Nest I was terrified.” Brian sighs. “Fizz just said she was glad they used a nice picture of us.”

“How’d they even get it? It’s hardly a photo someone would have had on file for you?” Brian only shrugs to Pat’s question. 

They walk around to the front of the building, the windows are covered in different wanted posters. Mug shots with a big red X over the face and  **GOVERNMENT TRAITOR DO NOT TRUST** written underneath. Pat doesn’t usually pay much attention to whose faces they’ve got up, but as he’s walking past one catches his eye. 

He turns and is met with his own face looking back at him.  _ Fuck.  _ He’s never ended up on a wanted poster before, he’s always managed to keep himself to himself. There’s been run-ins and close calls obviously, but most of the time he’s got out fast enough that the Dracs couldn't get a good look at him. 

He wonders how they even identified him. How they would have been able to work out who he was – through security camera footage is his best guess. It’s an old ID photo from work, his hair is shorter and he’s clean shaven, he feels like he’s looking at a different person. 

“Wait, that’s you.” Brian says as he stops next to him, staring up at the photo. “You look different.” 

“Yeah.” Pat can’t think of anything else to say. He doesn’t want to dwell on it, doesn’t want to acknowledge the fear that’s stabbing into his gut. 

It doesn’t mean anything, doesn’t change the fact that he’s spent years out here staying hidden and he’s actually  _ good _ at it now. But it’s still unsettling, like now he’s being looked out for, like now the Dracs won’t race past him chasing after someone else, like now they’d abandon a chase to target him instead. 

Brian takes a step towards the poster and runs his fingers along Pat’s jaw in the photo, the same careful reverence as when he traced his fingers over the photo of Fizz. 

“I like your hair now it’s longer.” Brian says determinately.

Pat feels like there’s a knot somewhere in his chest since he’s been travelling with Brian, and it only gets tighter in small moments like these. All his feelings for Brian tied up so tight it makes it hard to breathe. Pat’s desperate attraction to this beautiful dude is caught up in a muddle of fear that he’ll lose him before anything can happen, that Brian is so bursting with idealism that he’ll throw himself into danger. 

There’s a bright strand of hope mixed in with it all too, and Pat hates hope, but at least it lessens the weight on his chest a little bit. There’s hope looping through all these feelings, hope that they’ll be able to find Fizz without any problems, hope that Brian will stick around and won’t run headlong to an early grave, hope that Brian could be attracted to him too. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


They head inside the Gas ‘N’ Gulp, there’s no supplies around but there is a BLI vending machine that looks like it’s still working. There’s a few hidden about further into the Zones, places Dracs can pick up supplies if they’ve been stranded or separated from their patrol group. Pat throws his bag down and starts rummaging through it for his Vend-A-Hack he picked up from Tommy C when he first got out here. 

Brian’s eyes light up when he sees it, “Oh Dude! Let me do it, I’m good at that shit.” It’s real confidence in his voice this time, not at all tinged with bravado.

Pat lets himself be shuffled out of the way as Brian takes the console out of his hands with some excited bouncing on his toes, plugging it into the machine and starting to tap out code way more complex than Pat’s ever bothered to learn onto the small screen. 

Brian’s brow is furrowed as he types furiously, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he concentrates. Brian finishes typing and tilts his head, watching the screen as the three dots that show the code processing bounce up and down. He mutters under his breath in time with their bounces; “don’t. fuck. up. don’t. fuck. up.”

The screen goes blank for a second before the loud clang of items crashing into the metal drawer of the vending machine rings around the room. Brian double punches the air in front of him with a  _ FUCK YEAH  _ before unplugging the Vend-A-Hack and passing it back to Pat. 

Pat can only watch wide-eyed as Brian reaches into the drawer and starts pulling out what must be more than half of everything that was in the machine all together. There’s a few bottles of water, at least a dozen battery packs, two mini jars of Dupe Goop and some other junk. 

Pat doesn’t think he’s ever managed to trick the machines into dropping more than bottles of water and a battery packs. “When did you learn to hack?”

Brian shrugs, sifting through the stuff he’s dumped on the nearby counter until he grabs a bag of candy, examining the label. “Yum Duck? I’ve never seen these before.” He squishes the packet, checking they’re still good to eat before opening them, offering them out to Pat. “I don’t know if these are any good, but they seem like they’re still in date.”

“They’re kind of the worst.” Pat says, but takes one anyway and makes a face as soon as he’s put it in his mouth. Brian does the same, chewing with his face screwed up at the taste. “Really though kid, you’ve got talent with hacking. Dr. D would love to have someone like you helping the team with supply runs.”

Brian swallows the Yum Duck with a grimace before he smiles up at Pat a little shyly.

“Really?” Pat nods and Brian breaks into a real smile. “What’s the deal with Dr. D anyway, he’s like out here running weird radio shows and arranging supply drops. What else does he do?”

Pat shrugs. “He used to do more, helping with the Killjoys, trying to get the revolution going, training the kids who showed up out here how to fight, trying to get enough computers for people to hack into BLI’s systems.” 

Pat wanders over to the pile of stuff from the vending machine, looking through the junk until he finds a killjoy mask replica. BLI used to keep these stocked up in their vending machines, letting them drop along with whatever else the Dracs bought, a way to remind them of the enemy. 

The mask is white with green diamonds over both eyes, a black X over the right too, a copy of what Fun Ghoul used to wear. 

Pat loved Fun Ghoul, thought he stopped Poison going over the edge into full throttle righteous destruction without reason most of the time. If Poison hadn’t been in love, hadn’t had Ghoul to stay alive for, Pat can’t imagine what kind of plans he would have had for the explosives they managed to get their hands on sometimes. 

Ghoul was deep in the idealism of revolution as well though, used to romanticise the idea of dying hand in hand with Poison for the cause, Pat couldn’t take it. He didn’t want to die hand in hand with anyone, he didn’t understand what was so bad about just making their own lives out here, finding a way to survive despite what was happening in the city.

Brian comes up behind him then, taking the mask out of his hands and inspecting it. Pat wonders if Brian knows anything about Ghoul or the other killjoys, or if it was just stories about Poison making it out of the zones. 

“And now?”

“Now he just does the radio and some supply drops, gets water out to the parts of the desert where he knows people are hiding, too afraid to leave.” Pat starts putting some battery packs in his backpack, tries to shake his thoughts away from how things used to be. “He’d do it all again in a heartbeat, all the revolution prep. He’s probably doing more than he lets on to me anyway, knows I can’t stomach talk of revolutions.”

“Cause you lost Cherri?” Brian asks quietly and Pat nods. “Were you like… together?”

Pat huffs a laugh at that. “No, probably acted like an old married couple though, constantly bickering about the revolution and why I didn’t think he should be so involved. He was like a brother, losing him felt like losing the only thing I had that mattered out here.”

Brian chews his lip, looking up to Pat with sad eyes and Pat has to look away. He doesn’t need Brian’s pity, he doesn’t need Brian to try and help him heal, or whatever the fuck people think he needs to do to become less moody and cynical. 

He just wants Brian to carry on being Brian, filled with ridiculous hope, and ridiculous jokes or games for them to play as they struggle through the dust. He doesn’t want Brian to be another person out here that looks at him like he’s broken, another person who looks at him like he’s become ghost himself since Cherri’s been gone. 

“I’m sorry you lost him.” Brian leans his head against Pat’s shoulder, wraps an arm around Pat’s and rubs his thumb in soothing motions over his bicep. It makes Pat’s throat tighten, makes him need to fight back the tears he can feel pricking in his eyes. 

Brian must sense it, because he pushes away and goes back to the pile of stuff, picking out the odds and ends, the things he’s never seen before in a BLI vending machine before, giving a running commentary on everything without pause. A constant stream of consciousness designed to fill the silence without Pat needing to respond, letting him get lost in memories for a second without the crushing silence getting on top of him.

He drops out of his thoughts back into reality when he hears Brian laugh  _ it’s like the Drac masks replace people’s sense of style with the same tastes of an early two thousands coke dealer.  _ Pat laughs loudly at that. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


They’re still slowly sorting through what they’ve had out of the vending machine, wasting time chatting more than actually deciding what they want to take and what they’ll leave, when they hear the door of the Gas ‘N’ Gulp swing open. 

“Holy shit, Vinyl?” Pat turns to see Mobz, smiling wide as she realises it’s him. Pat runs over and pulls her into a hug,  _ fuck _ , it’s got to be about a year since he’s seen her around, and even then he’d only seen her in passing, it’d been ages since they’d really spent time together.

“Mobz! No wonder I haven’t seen you, you’re all the way out here in Zone Four now?” He pulls out of the hug and holds Mobz at arms length to look her over, she looks well, still rocking the undercut.

“Couldn’t shake the Dracs off my back at all in Zone Two. Just a waste of time being there, couldn’t leave the workshop for fear of it being trashed, couldn’t hold off the Dracs indefinitely. Had to move on in the end.” She shrugs.

“That’s how it goes, at least you’re safe. I think we stopped in your workshop on the way here, just a bit South?”

“Oh yeah, that’s me!” She says brightly. “What about you, still working for Dr. D? How come I never see you around?” 

“Yeah still recording, same as ever, I’m not really crashing with them anymore. Just wandering around the dust aimlessly most of the time, keeping myself to myself.” Pat pushes his hair back from his face.

“Well wander aimlessly in my direction from time to time. I won’t mind sharing that sofa, even with all your sharp angles.” Pat forgot how wonderful Mobz is, indestructible strength wrapped in her joyful and generous personality. She tips her head over to Brian. “You guys travelling together?”

Pat looks over at Brian with a smile, it twists a bit of guilt in his gut that he didn’t introduce him sooner. “Yeah, this is Spark. Spark this is Mobz.”

“Oh I know that’s Spark.” Mobz laughs, wandering over to him and the pile of stuff on the table. “I didn’t make it out to your show but I saw the posters, apparently you’ve got the voice of an angel, or at least that’s what Dr. D says.”

Brian blushes slightly. “I mean–”

“Better than that,” Pat cuts in with a laugh. “Voice of an angel and can hack vending machines like a demon.” 

“Oooh!” Mobz’s eyes light up and she looks down at the pile of stuff on the counter. “Spark you gotta come hang out with me sometime, all this from one hack?”

Brian nods a bit sheepishly. “My sister taught me. She can usually get more than this, can empty the whole machine before it locks you out.” 

Mobz gasps, “I know I haven’t met your sister, but I think she might be the love of my life, and I need you to set us up with a date.” 

They share their score from the vending machine with Mobz and sit around chatting for a while, Pat catches up on all the stuff he’s missed about people he knows but hasn’t seen in a while. Finds out who’s bit the dust in a shootout where the Dracs had more manpower, tells Mobz about what’s been going on with Legs, how she’s had to become a getaway driver since Dracs have been stalking their supply drops.

Mobz doesn’t have much information on what’s been going on in the inner zones since he fled the Nest with Brian the other night. She’s been out looking for scrap parts in Zone Three today, trying to meet up with someone who had a soldering iron she could buy, the meetup never happened because of how many Dracs were out there. 

“It’s amped up patrols, for sure.” Mobz peels the back off a sticker that fell out of the vending machine and sticks it on the wall. “No surprise really after that car escaped from the city, they’ve got a long list of traitors to look for after what happened at the Nest as well. Think they’re trying to crush any ideas of a revolution before people start believing again.”

“You think people are believing yet?” Brian asks. 

Mobz shrugs and looks over to Pat with a small smile. “Not sure. Lost cause if you ask me – Vinyl corrupted me against the revolution last time everyone was painting paper masks and trying to be superheroes.” 

Pat wonders if Brian wants to retaliate when he hears cynicism like that, he doesn’t though, just nods his head understandingly. 

Mobz stands up then, closing up her backpack and swinging it onto her back. “Anyway, it’s getting late. I wanna get back home before it gets dark, you’re welcome to come with.” 

“It’s okay, we better be heading off ourselves.” Pat stands and extends a hand to help Brian up, the kid looks shattered, he’d forgotten Brian had been awake taking watch since before sunrise.

“Where you heading to?” Mobz asks with a smile, like she already knows he won’t be able to give anywhere specific as an answer. 

“North-ish. We’re trying to lay low before we head back to find Spark’s bandmates.” 

Mobz pulls Spark into a quick hug and he mumbles into her shoulder “If you see them around…” His voice trails off a little before he carries on. “You’ve seen Fizz on the posters, yeah?”

Mobz nods, “I’ll tell her you’re around looking for her. I know where Vinyl wastes all his time with Dr. D, I’ll send her in that direction.”

“Thanks Mobz.” Pat says as she turns to him, standing on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek before she wraps her arms around his waist in a hug. 

“Don’t wait for some of your shit to break before you come and see me.” She orders into his chest as she squeezes him tight, he kisses her hair as she pulls away. 

Pat and Brian gather up their things too, heading outside into the orange glow of sunset with Mobz, ready to turn in opposite directions. They hug again quickly before they set off.

“Stay safe!” Pat calls, looking over his shoulder at her. 

“Stay wild!” She shouts with a laugh, not turning to look back at them but throwing a peace sign into the air as she walks away. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


“We might have to sleep outside tonight.” Pat’s voice is tentative, it’s never an ideal situation to be left freezing in the dust without any shelter. “We’re losing light and I’m not sure how far away we are from anything else.”

They’ve carried on walking north but haven’t seen any buildings or sign of anyone in ages, it’s desolate up here. The flat wastelands of the zones start breaking up with hills and rocks, where the mountains are starting to try and push their way out of the ground. 

“That’s okay.” Brian’s been quiet since they left the Gas ‘N’ Gulp, dragging his feet and yawning every so often. Pat guesses he’ll be able to pass out easy, even against the cold hard floor of the desert tonight.

Pat leads them up into the brush, trying to find a spot that might have some rocks to protect them from the wind as it picks up. His eyes catch on something colourful in the dying light, a mailbox, painted bright and colourful, with plastic flowers all around the base. He starts heading towards it. 

Pat swings his bag around so he can start digging through it, until he reaches the Drac mask he pulled off the woman he shot yesterday at the diner, the Battery City escapee who didn’t make it through the fight with her friends. Brian heads towards the mailbox, reaching out to run his fingers over the paint. 

“What is it?” Brian asks quietly as he steps up to it, lining his hand up with a purple handprint that’s been left on the side of the box.  _ Come home _ is written in thick pink paint across the top, Pat might actually know where he is after all. There aren’t loads of mailboxes out here, they’re all hidden away on the edges of the zones, he remembers this one.

“Depends what you believe in.” Pat joins Brian in front of the box, fishing a lighter out of his pocket and crouching to light the pillar candles nestled amongst the flowers, there’s only two with wicks left to burn. 

Brian’s watching him with interest when he stands back up. “It’s a shrine to honour people who’ve lost their lives out here, or some people think it’s a way to send messages to the afterlife, a way to pass on good wishes for people you haven’t seen in a long time. Some people think they’ve got something to do with the Phoenix Witch, if they believe in that whole thing. To other people it’s just a painted mailbox.”

Pat looks down at the mask in his hands. He never knew the woman they wrestled into it, only heard a few stories about what she did to help her friends as they were escaping the city. He doesn’t know her name, but he remembers her face.

“What do you believe?” Brian asks from beside him. 

He takes a deep breath and opens the mailbox, pushes the mask inside. 

“The Phoenix Witch.” Brian’s still looking at him expectantly when he flicks his eyes over to him. “She picks up the masks and helps find the souls who wore them, helps guide them on to the afterlife. People used to only do it for killjoy masks but Cherri started posting Drac masks too, said the same principle applied if it was the last thing someone had on before they died. He guessed the souls of people who’d been turned into Dracs probably needed all the help they could get anyway.” 

Brian’s quiet for a minute, and his voice is gentle when he speaks again. “I always thought the Phoenix Witch was just a story they told kids out here. I didn’t think it was– Is it real?” 

Pat shrugs and steps away from the mailbox. “Who’s to say kid? I was raised Catholic, maybe I’m wired to keep hoping and believing in something bigger than myself – somewhere we go after all this, someone who can get us there.”

“Do you think she really exists? Like she’s a living being out here in the desert, or is it all just about doing things through with intention, like you’re keeping a memory alive.” 

“I’ve heard plenty of stories from people who swear they’ve seen her.” Pat laughs. “But we’re right in the sweet spot for spiritual experiences; wandering around dehydrated or starving, half insane from being on the run. Seeing shit that isn’t there is just a regular Tuesday.” 

Pat turns and starts walking, ready to find a spot they can settle and build a fire before it gets dark. It’s getting cold again now, he’s noticed Brian shivering every time there’s a rush of wind. 

Brian grabs Pat’s sleeve. “Yeah, but Vinyl, what do you really think?”

Pat looks back at Brian, all big earnest eyes in the fading light, fingers still clutching at Pat’s jacket sleeve. He can feel a lump in his throat. He never tells anyone, he’s never told anyone, no one ever really asks what he really believes. 

It takes him a while to find the words. 

“Yeah, I believe it all. She’s out here, all shadows and feathers. I saw her once, after Cherri died. Spoke to her even.” He looks away from Brian’s shocked face, he knows he probably sounds crazy. 

“What did she say?”

“She told me I had to keep living, said there’s always more than this, always more than just dust. Even after we turn back into dust, there’s more.” Pat coughs and pushes his hair off his face. “Or something. I don’t know Spark, I wasn’t in the best state. It felt like she showed up to save me, I might have just imagined the whole thing. But it  _ happened  _ you know? I can’t just… act like it didn’t.” 

“Yeah, I get it.” Brian wraps his arms around himself, trying to warm himself up. 

“Come on, let’s find a spot to settle down for the night.” 

They find a spot in a dip between two hills, there’s enough protection from the wind that Pat thinks he’ll be able to light a fire without it being blown out before it really gets started. 

Brian unites the makeshift bag and drops the stuff to the ground in a hurry as soon as Pat declares  _ we’ll sleep here _ , pulling the hoodie on, desperately hoping for some warmth. 

Pat starts getting everything out of his bag and gets a fire started quickly, Brian sits as close as he can without the flames licking his skin. 

Pat puts his headlamp on, clearing rocks and sticks from the floor where they’ll be sleeping. He lays out a blanket before getting the other blanket and sleeping bag. He looks over at Brian, trying to weigh up how much of his decision making is still based on survival, and how much of it is being dictated by the feelings starting to swirl through his heart.

“So one of us can have the sleeping bag and one can have the blanket.” Pat starts, holding them up. “Or I can unzip the sleeping bag and we can use it as a duvet, doubling up with the blanket for more warmth. It doesn’t unzip to a full double though, so it might be a squeeze”

“I don’t mind a squeeze.” Brian yawns and pulls up his hood, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I’d probably end up clinging to you in my sleep anyway, trying to steal some of your body heat.”

It’s Pat’s turn to yawn now, he drops the blanket and sleeping bag and kicks some dust over the fire so it starts going out. He’d love to keep it lit next to them for some extra warmth but he thinks whatever this sleeping bag is made out of, it’s got to be super flammable, and it’s just not worth the risk.

Brian sits on the blanket and takes his glasses off. Pat sits down next to him and does the same, balancing his glasses on the top of his backpack next to them, before he spreads the blanket over them both.

Brian shuffles closer to him until there’s only centimeters between them, Pat unzips the sleeping bag, it doesn’t unzip all the way into a proper square of material. It stays kind of shut at the bottom and they have to tangle their feet together so they can both be covered, it takes a minute of fidgeting before they’re both led on their backs and wrapped in the warmth of the thicker material. 

Pat can feel Brian tense next to him, he shifts his legs and huffs an annoyed breath every so often. Pat chuckles slightly, “If you need to move about to get comfy then go for it, it won’t bother me.” 

Brian laughs in relief and starts shifting around, apologising when his fidgeting pulls the blanket or sleeping bag off Pat. He keeps turning onto his side and then turning back, eventually he turns onto his side and sighs. “I’m fine being little spoon.” Brian hesitates for a second. “If that would be comfy for you.”

“Yeah?” Pat’s mouth feels dry as he replies, but he doesn’t really wait a moment before turning onto his side as well, wrapping an arm around Brian’s chest and pulling him close.

Brian snuggles back against Pat, holding Pat’s arm where it’s wrapped around him. Brian feels so delicate in Pat’s arms, like something precious Pat should never have been trusted with, still shivering a little against his chest. It doesn’t take more than a minute or two before Brian’s breathing slows down and Pat thinks he’s fallen fast asleep.  
  
  
  
  


 

 

Pat doesn’t have as much luck dropping off as Brian, he can’t tell if he’s just imagining it, but it feels like the desert is louder than usual tonight, way louder than it should be when they’re this far out from anything that’s going on. He feels like he’s being watched, it’s probably ever since he saw his face on that wanted poster, for the first time he knows they’re hunting him down, looking to pick Pat’s face out in a crowd.

He tries to shake off those thoughts, to stay as far away from slipping to paranoia as is possible, but it really doesn’t work. 

He can’t ignore what his gut is telling him. He’s been out here for years, and he’s never spent a night sleeping outside that feels like this, the whole atmosphere feels off, like he’s in a brand new place. He feels like there’s a knife against his throat. He tries to reach for his glasses without waking Brian, slipping them on and squinting out into the darkness. He doesn’t think he can see anything. 

After a few minutes of trying to hold his breath and listen as closely as he can, to any noises moving through the desert, he sits up. It disturbs Brian next to him, who rolls over and mumbles “What’s going on?”

“I just thought I heard something.” Pat whispers and Brian sits up, feeling around for his glasses. 

They sit together in the silence, listening out for anything unusual, bodies pressed against one another. All Pat can hear is him and Brian’s breathing as it falls in time, he’s going to feel like an idiot if his paranoia has woken Brian up for nothing. His stomach twists again, he hopes he just ends up feeling like a paranoid idiot rather than the alternative.

They sit for a few minutes longer, Brian stretching and cracking his joints next to him, Pat’s just about to suggest they forget it and get back to sleep when he hears a car speeding past. It’s too close for comfort, he can just about see the cloud of dust it ripped up from the desert floor. 

“We’ve gotta go.” Pat whispers, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. He pulls the unzipped sleeping bag off them, zipping it up and folding it away. Brian gathers up the other blanket, they both freeze when they hear the car again, and it sounds like it’s getting closer. 

They hurry to cram the blankets and sleeping bag into Pat’s backpack. Pat puts on his headlamp, flicking it to a dimmer light than usual, trying not to attract any attention as they start to pick their way back towards the empty desert. The noise of a car comes back, this time it sounds like it’s moving straight towards them. 

Pat starts walking faster, heart in his throat, trying not to trip over a rock, or some junk, or something more sinister lurking in the darkness. They’re moving between two boulders when the car stops. They hear a door slam and then radio static, Pat flicks his light off altogether, pulling Brian down against the rock so they’re hidden.

They stay as still as possible, holding their breath and hoping, hoping,  _ hoping _ that whoever is out here isn’t BLI, or if it is, that they’re not looking for them. 

The radio static continues breaking in and out, from the direction where they were going to sleep for the night, Pat’s certain if they were closer they’d hear a voice in the breaks between the static, giving a report on what they’ve found.

He pulls his gun out of his holster and moves away from Brian, creeping to a spot where he thinks he might be able to get a look at what’s going on. He’s hoping his steps are quiet but he can’t tell over the ringing of panic in his ears.

He doesn’t see anyone clearly, but he can see the light of a torch moving around in the darkness, it’s only one person, for now at least.

He tries to move out from behind the rock as slow as possible and yeah, he can see them now, it’s a single Drac. He knows there’s no chance they’re alone, not this late and this far out. They’ll probably have a full Scarecrow Unit with them. 

Pat turns back to Brian, motions for him to stand up and come closer to him. Brian moves slowly, standing and pulling out his gun, Pat can see where he fumbles it a bit with shaking fingers. 

Pat waits until Brian is close enough that he can lean his face right up against Brian’s ear, and can whisper as quietly as humanly possible. “You okay if we’ve gotta run?” 

Pat can feel more than see Brian’s nod in the darkness. He turns back to look at the lone Drac, moves out from behind the rock a bit more and takes two careful steps forward, raising his gun and lining up the shot.

He takes a slow breath, tries to stop his hands shaking. Pat hopes to whoever is out there watching over him that he’s got enough charge in his gun for the shot to get that far and have enough power to still take someone down. 

He fires and a bright flash of green shoots through the darkness. Pat doesn’t wait long enough for his eyes to adjust from the flash to see if the body has dropped. 

Pat just turns and grabs Brian’s hand, and sets off running as fast as he can without turning his headlamp on, pulling Brian along with him. Relying on hope more than he ever has in all his years out here, constant prayers running through his mind like when he made a run past the city line.

Praying that he managed to kill the Drac with a clean shot, that it’ll be at least a few minutes before the car is after them again, hoping he’ll be able to get Brian somewhere safe for the night.    


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Kudos and comments mean the world <3
> 
> Next chapter might take a bit longer than two weeks to get out.


	4. Keep running

They run hand-in-hand through the dark. Out of the brush, tearing through the dried spikey grass, back onto the flat wastelands—the sprawling flat endless darkness. Their feet carrying them as fast as possible. Pat still doesn’t feel safe enough to run with his headlamp on. He can hear the car engine running behind them, but at least it’s not moving, small victories. 

Brian’s stumbling behind him as he runs, and Pat knows he’s dragging Brian along more than anything, but Pat can’t slow down, they’re ruined if they stop running for even a second. If the car manages to catch them in its headlights they’ll be chased down to the bitter end, there’s no chance they’d even make it to sunrise.

They’d be wrapped up in shiny body bags or trapped in a Drac mask, forced to live a life hunting down people they used to call friends. It sends a chill down Pat’s spine to even think about, gets bile rising in his throat in an instant. He doesn’t want that. Being turned into a Drac feels like the worst kind of fate. He doesn’t want any more blood on his hands.

He’s lucky he found that Phoenix Witch mailbox, without it he wouldn’t know they’re close to the Honeycomb, wouldn’t know the route to safety. Cherri would have called it divine intervention, Pat doesn’t think he’d disagree tonight.

Their pace slows eventually. Pat’s not sure how long he’ll be able to run without stopping—not sure how much further the adrenaline and fear can carry him. He’s run harder tonight than he has in his whole life, lungs punched out by how far they’ve traveled through the darkness.

They slow down and try to listen for the car, for any unusual noises, but can’t hear over their panting breaths, his own heartbeat ringing in his ears. Pat doesn’t even want to stay still to try and listen, he’d rather they keep going. 

He flicks on his headlamp quickly, tries to make sure they’re on the right track. Squinting into the sudden too bright light until he’s pretty sure he knows where he is, and that they won’t be out here for much longer. Pat flicks the headlamp off again, eyes struggling to adjust back to the thick darkness, no longer able to pick out the vague outlines of what’s ahead.

“Vy?” Brian’s breaths are shaky, and Pat can hear the fear in his voice even if it’s too dark to see his face.

“We’ve gotta keep going.” Pat whispers, setting off running at a slightly more forgiving pace this time.   
The moon is trapped behind thick clouds, barely shining any light out on the desert as they run for their lives. Pat is thankful the route to the Honeycomb is burnt into his memory, even if it’s because of terrible memories, even if he hasn’t showed his face there in a long while. 

He doesn’t even realise he didn’t grab Brian’s hand when they set off again, doesn’t really think about how he’s leading Brian into the terrifying dark unknown, almost completely blind himself, until he hears Brian stumble and hit the ground behind him with a yelp. 

Pat spins around and flicks his headlamp on, the glaring light making Brian squint with a grunt as it hits his eyes. “Fuck, sorry.” Pat flicks the headlamp to the dimmer setting and looks down over Brian, his face is screwed up in pain and he’s holding his left ankle. “You hurt?”

“Yeah fucking— _ ow _ —fucking kills.” Brian starts to push himself up, reaching up for Pat’s hand so he can stand. Pat wraps an arm around Brian’s waist as he stands and tests his ankle, tries to put some weight on it. Brian hisses in pain every time he takes a step, even though he’s using Pat to support most of his weight. “Think I just twisted it real bad.” 

Pat nods and keeps an arm tight around Brian, supporting him as they walk slowly, Brian sounds like he’s struggling, panting breaths catching on little grunts as he hobbles along.

“Let me carry you.” Pat says, stopping and looking over Brian to find the best way to lift him. 

“No, it’s fine. I’ll be okay–”

“You shouldn’t be putting weight on it.” 

Brian starts to disagree again but Pat isn’t really listening. He’s looking out for shapes moving through the darkness, for a Drac that could have seen them glowing in the light of Pat’s headlamp for the last minute or so.

They’re an easy target for someone to pick out right now, and the last thing Pat wants to do is draw attention, especially when they’re already dying on their feet with exhaustion, and Brian can only move at a snail's pace.

“Just let me carry you, we’re like ten minutes out. It’s fine. I wanna turn this light off.” 

Brian nods and hovers around Pat, waiting for him to decide how best to carry him. After a moment's hesitation, Pat guides Brian to wrap his arms around his neck, and scoops his legs from under him so Brian’s cradled in his arms. 

“Do me a favour and switch the headlamp off.” Pat whispers as he starts walking, jostling Brian in his arms at little until he’s holding him comfortably. 

Brian reaches up and flicks the light off. Pat can’t run with Brian in his arms like this, but he still tries to walk at as quick a pace as possible. 

“How’d you even know where you’re going?” Brian whispers after a few minutes.

“Just do.” Brian drops his head to Pat’s shoulder, and Pat can’t decide if the kid is just tired and in pain, or if his tone was too harsh when he gave such a curt answer. Either way, Brian stays quiet as they travel through the shadows. 

Pat can feel Brian’s breaths against his neck, he really tries not to think about it. 

It’s difficult though when Brian wraps his arms around Pat a bit tighter and yawns, his head falling forward and pressing against Pat’s neck. Pat wishes he were focused enough on survival and making it out alive, so he didn’t shiver when Brian’s lips accidentally ghosted over sensitive skin. 

“We’re almost here.” Pat whispers and Brian shifts in his arms. “Get the light for me?”

Brian reaches up to flick the headlamp to the dimmest setting—it suddenly illuminates a picture of destruction in front of them. Pat’s used to it, or at least, he’s seen it before. Brian’s breath catches a little bit as his eyes dart through the chaos of rubble.

The jagged edges of a building torn apart from the inside out with explosives stands in front of them, and all around them, the rubble piling at their feet. It used to be a hotel, but Pat remembers it not as a functioning hotel with 300 rooms for guests—but as Poison’s Killjoy headquarters, with enough supplies to keep the revolution going. It acted as a safe house, a hospital, a school—a military base by the time Poison really got started with his plans.

Violence begets violence though, and the minute Poison had set up a war room with maps and a stockpile of weapons, BLI had managed to get wind of it. They didn’t hesitate before they sent cars full of explosives into the desert, searching for the perfect hideaway the Killjoys had created—with the direct order to rip it to shreds. 

“What is this place?” Brian asks quietly, carefully, as Pat starts to pick through the rubble in the same way. 

“The Honeycomb.” Pat winds through the small dusty path, hoping nothing has changed since he was last out here, hoping the route to get in is still the same. It’s not an easy route into the building now—that’s how they’ve stopped Drac’s finding them—it’s even more difficult with Brian in his arms. 

“What happened to it?”

“They bombed it, years ago. BLI wanted it destroyed when the Killjoys started using it as a base. They were running everything out of here—stupid really, looking back. ‘Course this was going to happen.”  

Brian stays quiet as Pat gets them through the concrete mess, only speaking up to insist that he’ll be fine to walk on his ankle a bit as long as Pat can support some of his weight. Pat shushes him, tells Brian he’ll be able to carry him all the way through. 

Pat’s determined, even though his back is aching and his legs feel like jelly, and there’s dust from the rubble in his eyes that he needs to rub at but can’t because of how he’s holding Brian. He refuses to give up just because he’s a bit uncomfy, but he’s forced to give up as they walk further into the building and the route to get in has changed—now it involves some climbing. 

It takes a bit of effort, and Brian’s clearly in pain as he pulls himself up, but it works and they’re only a few meters away from some boards Pat can push out of the way to get them into part of the building that hasn’t been destroyed. Brian resists being picked back up, instead wrapping an arm around Pat’s waist and holding on tight as they move through the corridors.

Brian’s body is leaning against him heavy, Pat knows he’s exhausted. It’s not far from here, there’s only two parts of the hotel that haven’t really been touched—not destroyed by the bombs or converted into supplies storage.

Pat stops at a hotel room door and moves Brian’s arm from around him gently so he can search through his backpack. He knows he put it somewhere safe, in a smaller pocket somewhere probably, and he roots around for a minute or two before pulling out a key. 

Brian’s eyes are wide as Pat unlocks the door and steps forward into the pristine hotel room, looking probably the same as it did years ago, just maybe a little bit dustier. Pat steps into the room, throws his backpack onto the floor and collapses back onto the double bed, rubbing his hands over his face. 

“Spark, I’m so sorry–” Pat sits up to look over at Brian, who’s still stood near the doorway, arms braced against the frame, mouth hanging open in surprise.

“You have the key to a hotel room?” 

“Yeah. I’m not the only one with a key to this room though.” Pat sits up to look at Brian, then notices how he’s white knuckled holding onto the door frame. He moves towards Brian, takes his arm and helps support him over to the bed. Brian breathes a deep sigh of relief as he drops onto the mattress. “We might have other people crashing in here with us, I don’t know.”

Brian just hums a little positive noise. “I don’t care, I’m just excited to sleep in a real bed.”

Pat sits at the edge of the bed, starts untying Brian’s boots. “I’m sorry I’ve dragged us a bit out of the way, I know it’s the last thing you would have wanted.”

“It’s fine.” Brian sucks in a breath through his teeth, flinching in pain as Pat moves his left foot slightly to untie the laces. 

“I’m sorry, hold on.” Pat tries to be careful, glancing up to Brian and throwing the light from his headlamp across him. It’s on the dimmest setting but he can still see where Brian’s biting into his lip, eyes screwed up and hands fisted in the pillows, trying to fight the pain. “I should have taken your boot off when we set off again. I didn’t think about the swelling.”

“Don’t worry.” Brian says, and it’s followed by a small yelp and then a drawn out hiss when Pat starts to slide the boot off Brian’s foot. “Don’t worry about the detour either—we’re safe now, that’s all that matters.” 

Brian huffs a laugh when Pat carefully pulls off his socks. “I can’t believe you’re dealing with my gross smelly desert feet.”

Pat puts the socks into Brian’s boots and starts rooting through his backpack, grabs the first aid kid.

“That’s what friends are for.” Pat chuckles, uncaps an anti-inflammatory gel and starts rubbing it over Brian’s bad ankle before wrapping a bandage around it. Brian struggles to stay still, making small noises of pain whenever the pressure catches him in a tender spot, Pat mutters apologies under his breath the whole time. “I’m no medical expert so I’m hoping this reduces swelling, we’ll get it elevated now too.”

Pat grabs some blankets from the cupboard and flicks the dusty radio on the table on low, tuning it into Dr. D’s station. It’s just static, but he’ll happily sit through it in the chance that he might hear what’s been going on out there. Hoping he’ll hear Dr. D’s voice to remind himself that there’s things to keep going for, that someone is still out there playing music and keeping their broken desert community alive. That there’s someone out there who still cares if he’s alive.

Brian yawns and Pat prompts him to sit up, to drink some water and get under the covers before he falls asleep. When Brian lies back down Pat stacks the blankets under his ankle, trying to create a large enough surface that Brian’s foot will still be elevated even after he’s shuffled around in his sleep. 

Everything Pat feels is a jumble inside him, too much hope and fear without enough energy left for his brain to process it all— that’s without him thinking about the feelings for Brian that are blooming in his heart, clawing at his chest, swirling in his gut. 

Brian’s a mess of contradictions himself, his bold and bright fearlessness so harshly contrasted against all these fragile little moments. Moments Pat has only had the chance to see because of this disastrous journey they’re on together. Pat feels a little guilty, but mostly he feels responsible, like he keeps leading them into danger.

He knows that’s not true, there’s just danger lurking out here at every corner, he repeats it in his head until the tension in his face has loosened, God he’s got to stop frowning so much. He flicks his headlamp to a dimmer setting and puts it to the side, keeping the room bathed in soft light. 

He pulls the covers over Brian’s legs carefully, he’s already wrapped them around his upper half, floppy hair and angelic features just peeking over the edge of the blanket. 

“Are you going to tell me a bedtime story?” Brian asks, and it should be light, there should be a giggle paired with that joke, but there’s not. Instead Brian’s voice is thick, and Pat knows it’s not a joke, it’s a plea.  _ Don’t leave me to fall asleep to my own thoughts. _ It’s reasonable after everything they’ve been through.

He sighs as he sits on the bed and starts getting his own boots off, shrugs out of his jacket, and starts telling Brian the story of the Honeycomb. 

He’s editing history as he goes, but that’s fine, Brian doesn’t need to hear anything negative right now. He talks about when they first found it, how a gang of dudes called the Crack Bandits were refusing to share it, then after Poison helped them in a shootout they handed it over to the cause.

“When we first got out here Poison was determined to paint the whole place, cover the outside in murals to inspire hope in the revolution.” Pat huffs a little laugh at the memory. “Dr. D thought he was an idiot, he wasn’t even mad about them drawing attention to themselves, he just wanted the paint to be used by all the kids who were being looked after here.”

Pat’s about to carry on, keep telling Brian stories of how they ran this place like a utopian community centre, taking everyone in, regardless of what the Killjoys were trying to achieve for the revolution—protecting each other had to come first. 

Pat’s story is cut off by a quiet crackle on the radio. 

The static hums a different note, and it sounds like there’s a drumbeat somewhere under all that fuzz—he reaches to flick the volume up. 

The drumbeat gives way to more static, what sounds like interference on the waves, before it clears up and Dr. D’s voice is reverberating around the dimly lit room. Pat feels his stomach drop as soon as the transmission starts, there’s never late night broadcasts. Not without good reasons anyway. 

**_You magical misfits are up way past your bedtime if you’re hearing this transmission._ **

**_I like my beauty sleep—so you know when I’m hitting the waves this late something ugly has already gone down. I’m sorry to hit you with the bad news blues but another great Killjoy soul is swirling with the stars tonight. Katz was shot dead, fighting to their last breath to defend the Nest with everything they had._ **

**_Life isn’t fair. Death might be worse. I’m sure you’ll remember Katz for all the beautiful chaos they maintained out here. A true lover of rock and roll—protector of the incubation tank we called the Nest—and the only person to tell ‘lil old Dr. D he has a shitty taste in music._ **

**_The Nest was up in flames, now it’s no more than ash. We’re sure the body count from that shootout will rise when the sun comes up and some of our loved ones don’t come home._ **

**_I’m not playing a track tonight. I’m just gonna remind you there’s a reason we say ‘stay safe’ before we say ‘stay wild’._ **

**_Find yourself a place to hide—do us all a favour and keep yourself alive. This isn’t the time to be a hero—or a time to stand and fight. Tell your friends you love them—make sure you’re safe out there tonight._ **

**_This is Dr. D signing off into this black night. My heart is broken, but we’ll be playing Katz favourite tunes when the sun comes back up and everyone’s managed to scrub the dried blood off their hands._ **

Pat doesn’t process the fact that he’s crying—sobbing really—until he’s being pulled into Brian’s arms. Pat turns easily, lets himself be pulled into the hug so he can fist his hands in Brian’s shirt and cry against his chest. 

“Vy, I’m so sorry. Katz was brilliant, they didn’t deserve any of this.” Brian is keeping up a constant flow of soothing whispers and rubbing his back, holding him as tight against his chest as possible. Pat’s not really aware of any of it, can’t really feel his body anymore, can’t hear anything above his own shuddering gasping breaths. 

He’s known Katz for years. Since he first got out here they were running the Nest, keeping the party alive for every lost soul who felt like they had nothing left to live for. Now the Nest is gone, the party is finally over, and Katz’ body is out there somewhere, cold and impossibly lifeless. 

Pat’s thoughts spiral and eventually he falls off the edge into unconsciousness, Brian holding him close as the tears are still running down his cheeks. 

  
  
  
  


Pat wakes up and doesn’t want to talk about it, because he doesn’t want to even think about it. 

He’s been awake with his melancholy thoughts for a while by the time Brian stretches and curses in pain as he wakes up, the pain in his ankle hitting him all over again. Pat was expecting that, he’s got a bottle of water and painkillers ready, moving from his spot sitting at the end of the bed to hand them to Brian. 

“Vinyl.” Brian’s voice is soft and achingly sympathetic, Pat doesn’t want to spend all day crying. Shit like that isn’t healthy, no matter what Cherri would have told him way back when. “I’m so sorry. Katz was—they always—I didn’t know Katz that well like you did, I’m sure—” 

“Don’t. I know, it’s awful. Katz was real special, the desert won’t be the same now.”  Brian takes the pills and looks at Pat expectantly. “That’s it. I don’t want to talk about it. Everything’s fucked up, our friends keep getting killed. We go out into the dust again and it all carries on.”

“Okay.” Brian’s voice is quiet, nervous. There’s a minute of silence between them and Pat’s still stood over Brian even though he’s not looking down at him now, just staring at the wall as he tries to reign in his thoughts. Brian snaps him out of them, “Can you reach some food from the bag?”

Brian shifts to look at his ankle and winces when he sees how swollen it is. Pat wordlessly puts his bag on the bed, rummages through it for the protein bars, his own body finally catching up to how he’s feeling. He’s starving, and he hadn’t even noticed. 

  
  
  
  


Pat leads them out of the room after they’ve eaten and Brian’s seen to his ankle. Brian wraps it up in the bandage completely different to how Pat did, pulling it tighter than Pat thought he could.  _ I used to do dance, I fucked up my ankle every so often, it’ll be fine in a day _ , Brian had explained with a shrug and it broke the tension between them, restored whatever practical and efficient form of friendship they’ve developed over the past few days. 

He still has to support Brian as he walks, and Brian had jokingly asked Pat if he thinks they’ll find crutches somewhere in here. But honestly, if there was ever a chance they’d find them somewhere in the zones, it would be this building. 

It’s tough making it through the hallways, as soon as they’re down the corridor from Pat’s room the building morphes back into the chaotic rubble catastrophe. Winding pathways through the partly collapsed walls until they’re somewhere in the middle of the rubble, in a ballroom that somehow didn’t get crushed as the building collapsed around it. 

“Vinyl?” Legs shouts as Pat leads Brian into the room, before he’d even had a chance to look up and notice there was anyone else here. “What’s going on? You’re never out here anymore.”

She’s here with Clacker and Barbie, probably here dropping off or picking up supplies before they head out. She runs up to Pat and throws her arms around both him and Brian. 

“Did you hear?” She asks, looking up with tears already pricking her eyes. “About Katz?” 

Pat nods and reaches a hand up to push his hair back from his face, staying silent. 

“You’re not talking about it?” Legs fixes him with something close an angry glare, Pat gives a little shrug, shakes his head. “Fuck you, man. You know I hate your silent and brooding bullshit. What are you doing out here then?” 

“We got caught up in a Drac attack late last night, we were on foot, had to run.” He tips his head across to Brian, who’s hobbled away from Pat to sit down and is making introductions on the sofa. “Spark’s ankle is fucked, any chance there’s med packs around here?”

“Better than just med packs, Barbie is basically a doctor, he’ll have a steroid shot or something for it.” Legs looks back at the kid and yeah, Barbie is already crouched on the floor in front of him peeling back the bandage carefully. “You’ve been out here with Spark since it all kicked off at the Nest?”

“Yeah, keeping out of the inner zones for a bit before we go look for his bandmates. Have you heard anything?” 

Legs shakes her head. “We’re out here avoiding the inner zones too, Dr. D has even called off supply runs, it’s that hectic. BLI effectively shit themselves when the kid was bold enough to vandalise his own wanted posters, it’s been crazy.”

“And now Katz is dead.” 

Legs steps forward and rests her forehead against Pat’s chest, taking a deep breath before looking back up to him with a stern face of disappointment. “If we’re not allowed to talk about Katz and remember all the good times, you’re certainly not allowed to brood like this.”

“Fine.”

Legs nudges him and smiles. “Come on then, we’ve managed to score some instant noodles that are still in date. What’s better than freeze dried BBQ pork before the metallic tang has got to it?” 

  
  
  
  


They sit and eat with Legs and her crew, getting caught up on everything that’s been happening since the attack on the Nest. Legs hasn’t seen Fizz, hasn’t heard any news about who’s crashing with Dr. D since the attack either, it makes Brian chew his lip nervously. Pat tries to be comforting, rubs Brian’s back and reminds him it’s a big desert, but Pat knows it might all just feel like empty words. 

Clacker roots around in their supplies for some crutches for Brian but the best he can come up with is a cane, it’s great, except Brian keeps doing  _ putting on the ritz _ style dances with it instead of using it to support his own weight. 

Legs shows them to what’s now affectionately being called the courtyard, but is really just a room where the roof has fallen through. It’s nice though, gives them a chance to sit outside even within the safety of the Honeycomb—Pat doesn’t know why anyone would want to sit in the sun instead of staying in the shade, but the option is there. 

“Yeah I mean, I’m not going to be out here sunbathing, but great.” Pat smiles when Legs stops in the courtyard, and he’s already shrugging his jacket off in the heat from the sun. 

She rolls her eyes at him. “I haven’t brought you here to sunbathe you jackass, I’ve brought you here because we’ve set up a solar shower. Out here opportunities to get clean are few and far between—”

“You need to stop hanging out with Dr. D if you’re going to start rhyming everything as much as him.” Pat cuts in with a laugh.

“Shut up.” Legs elbows him in the ribs and rolls her eyes as she looks up at him. “Did you want a shower or not?”

Brian and Pat reply with an enthusiastic  _ hell yeah _ at the same time, making Legs laugh.

“Brian can shower first.” Pat offers.

“Great. Do you want clean clothes?” Legs asks then, making Brian tilt his head in confusion. “We’ve just done a clothes wash so we have a bucket of clean-ish soapy water we can wash them in. Or you can grab new ones from inside, there’s boxes and boxes we’ve had smuggled out of the city.”

Brian hands over his jorts to be washed but says he’ll look for some new stuff to wear. Pat isn’t really interested in anything new beyond underwear and socks, he strips down to his pants and takes his clothes along with Brian’s jorts to wash. 

They’ve set up the bucket in a half standing room, so they could run a makeshift clothesline from wall to wall where the sun can dry the clothes quickly. 

Pat strips down to his pants to wash his clothes, Legs hovers around him as he dunks and scrubs at the material. He feels exposed, but it’s not because he’s in his boxers— it’s more because of how Legs has been fixing him with this determined look, like she’s figuring out something he’s trying to keep hidden.

“You and Spark seem pretty close.” She’s prying, Pat doesn’t really mind when it’s Legs prying, she does it because she cares.

“Really?”

Legs scoffs. “No, you’re not close with anyone since Cherri, not even me.” That makes Pat wince. “But you’re different around him, it’s like you’re debating dropping your guard, letting him in.”

“I don’t know Legs, I dragged him out of the Nest trying to rescue him, now he’s separated from his sister. Imagine if you had family out here—how much you’d want to stay with them.” Pat sighs and dunks his jeans into the water one last time, pulls them out and hangs them up, turning back to face her. “I feel… I don’t know, responsible maybe? For getting this kid back to her in one piece.”

Legs studies his face for a long moment, her gaze sharp enough that he turns back to washing clothes. 

“You really care about him.” Her voice is soft, like she’s finding the missing pieces of some puzzle. 

“Of course I do—I’d care about anyone I’d been travelling with for a few days.” Pat doesn’t like where this conversation is going, how much Legs already seems to have him figured out. He can’t seem to stop talking himself into a hole anyway. “It’s nothing more than that, it wouldn’t be practical for it to be anything more than that, feelings get in the way of survival.”

“Vinyl, you’re allowed to meet someone and have feelings for them out here. Survival isn’t the only thing you have to care about.” She takes a deep breath. “I know that losing Cherri was awful, he was like a brother to you—”

“Legs, don’t.” Pat cuts her off. 

“Okay.” Her voice is soft, and Pat can hear her moving towards the doorway. “But for what it’s worth Spark seems to really care about you too. And I don’t think it’s just because you’re helping him get back to his sister.”

  
  
  
  
  


Brian emerges from the courtyard struggling to hold a towel around himself and walk with his cane. 

“Um, where’s the clean underwear because I’m going to end up flashing someone.” Brian asks with a laugh, and Legs jumps up to bring the box of new underwear over to him. 

Pat stands, ready to head to the courtyard and shower himself, as he stands Brian makes a startled gasp. 

“Oh sorry, false alarm.” Brian laughs looking back at Pat. “From the corner of my eye when you stood up I thought you were naked.”

It makes Pat blush, turning him bright red from his face all the way down to his chest. He stutters over his words, “What– no– I’m just–”

“Vinyl’s not really the exhibitionist of the group.” Legs laughs and rescues Pat from his flustered babbling. “That’s Barbie, obviously, setting up the shower directly opposite the two sun loungers.”

“What’s better than lying in the sun and watching me shower?” Barbie hollers from across the room and Pat leaves in a rush to shower.    
  
  


 

 

Pat honestly doesn’t remember the last time he showered, he manages to have a quick wash every so often, when he’s got enough clean water that he doesn’t have to worry about dehydrating. But an actual shower is so much better than quickly washing yourself with a flannel, hoping wherever you’re crashing won’t be raided by Dracs the minute you’ve taken your pants off. 

He lets the water run over him and feels like a real person again, with a real life, even if it is a messed up post-apocalyptic one. His worries aren’t washed away with the warm water, and they can’t really be scrubbed away when he’s soaping up his skin, but they all feel a little less heavy here under the water. 

Things might not be perfect, god knows they’re never going to be close to perfect, but things aren’t terrible right now. He’s doing okay by Brian—who’s happy he managed to have a real shower and is excited he’s getting clean underwear as well as new clothes. He’s managed to stay close to Legs’ heart—even after years of holding her at arms length she doesn’t punish him for it, just offers him love and understanding. And he knows Dr. D is safe and still hitting the waves, even if it is only to give bad news updates now. 

He’s still trying not to think about the Katz thing, still can’t believe they’ve lost such a wonderful person, especially someone who was such a bright light of hope. He’ll get pulled under a wave of depression if he lingers on that one too much. Instead he washes the last of the soap suds off himself and heads back to see what new outfit Brian has chosen. 

  
  
  
  


His clothes aren’t dry when he gets back inside, so he grabs some clean underwear and heads off to the supply room Legs says is basically a walk-in wardrobe, where Brian is still looking for something new in all the boxes. 

When Pat steps into the room Brian is in a royal blue silk kimono, with golden embroidery and massive sleeves. Brian’s tied it loosely at the waist, so most of his chest is exposed. He looks up at Pat with a grin and steps back from the box he’s rummaging through to give a small turn. There’s a massive dragon embroidered across the back.

“Okay, I don’t have a mirror, so I’m relying on you to tell me if this looks as dramatic as I’m imagining.” Brian turns again and poses dramatically with the back of his hand resting against his forehead. “I think what would really make it would be a long Audrey Hepburn style cigarette holder.”

“Have you ever even smoked a cigarette?” Brian giggles and blushes a little, shaking his head no. “It looks dramatic, very  _ housewife who’s a suspect in her husband’s murder _ kind of vibe.”

Brian puts a hand to his chest, affects a startled expression. “You’re not insinuating I would have killed my husband, officer. I’ve been married to him for twenty five years—can’t even imagine how I’ll live without him.” Pat laughs and Brian drops out of the act with a grin. “Legs gave me moonshine by the way, I’ve been told I have to share.”

Brian points out a jar on the side and Pat laughs with something that now sounds like glee because, fuck yes. No wonder Brian’s having a whale of a time playing dress up if he’s tipsy on moonshine. 

They trade sips as they search through the boxes, Pat taking a few big gulps in an effort to catch up with Brian. He’s not really looking for anything, just pawing through in case there’s a t-shirt he really likes. 

Brian holds stuff up that he thinks would suit Pat every once in a while, including a dark denim jacket covered in what must be band patches, although they’re all bands Pat’s never heard of. Pat shakes his head no at everything.

Brian is the opposite, constantly finding new things to try on and making Pat worry about how much weight he’s putting on his bad ankle. Barbie gave him a shot so he can’t feel the pain anymore, as well as putting some other gel on it and bandaging it back up tight—Pat’s still worried Brian might make it worse without meaning to.

Brian finds a floral romper and puts it on, turning to Pat to ask his opinion. 

“It’s nice actually.” Pat says from where he’s leaning back against the wall, his quest for a new t-shirt has long been abandoned over watching Brian try on everything unusual that he comes across.

“Yeah?” Brian pulls at the material a bit, looking himself over like he could see how it looks on himself if he tried hard enough. “I don’t think I’d want to give up my jorts really.”

“Nah it’s too baggy anyway.” Pat adds without thinking about what he’s really saying here. “Looks too big on your body, just drowns you instead of accentuating anything.” 

Brian turns to him, fast as anything, with gleaming eyes. “Vinyl I didn’t know you had all these fashion opinions that you were keeping to yourself. What do you think I need to accentuate?” 

Pat coughs and sputters through nonsense for a second, trying to find a way out of answering the question he just backed himself into. Brian luckily shows him some mercy.

“I’m fucking with you, Vy.” He laughs gentle, but there’s still a knowing smirk plastered on his face. “I get it, you just think I’ve got a hot bod.”

“Please don’t shorten the term body to bod.” Pat groans. 

Brian must still be fucking with him, Pat’s sure of it, because the next outfit he puts on is a cheerleader outfit. It’s purple and mustard and compliments Brian’s complexion. He says as much. 

“That’s it? The  _ colours compliment my complexion,  _ it doesn’t you know, compliment anything else?” Brian poses with his hands on his hips.

Pat knows he’s being goaded but he’s determined not to take the bait. 

“It doesn’t accentuate anything else?” Brian twists and turns then, making the pleats of the skirt rise up as he spins. They’ve been sat half naked together for the better part of an hour now, but it still feels scandalous when he catches a glimpse of Brian’s underwear again now under the skirt. Pat still shakes his head. “If this was a tight skirt instead of pleats it would be criminal for you to not say how good it makes my ass look.”

“Lucky it’s pleats then.” Pat says, because he has to say something instead of staring silently up at Brian with whatever must be written all over his face right now.

“You’re kind of blushing Vy, is this a thing for you?” Brian is smirking again and Pat is trying desperately to keep it together. If he starts getting hard there’s no way Brian won’t be able to see it, then he’ll either be mocked and never live it down, or freak Brian out and feel like a total creep. “Were you a dorky kid constantly getting the hots for the cheerleaders in high school?”

“No, I hated all the cheerleaders in high school.” Pat laughs and tries to think of what he can say to move this conversation on, away from this dangerous topic they’re lurking over. Unfortunately the moonshine has already fogged up his brain enough for him to be talking without thinking. “You’re the hottest cheerleader I’ve ever seen.”

Brian laughs delighted at that, his smirk is replaced by a blush, although Pat can’t really read what that means. He thinks it probably just came off as a joke, right? 

Brian pulls the top off and turns back to searching through another pile of clothes. “If my ankle wasn’t fucked up I’d show you my perfect split leap, then I’d be a believable cheerleader.”

Brian carries on searching through the boxes of clothes, worrying that he’s going to end up picking something ridiculous now he’s feeling a bit drunk. He tries on loads more outfits, more fun ones and some he might actually wear, Brian finds a pair of dungarees at some point and Pat can’t tell which category they fall under. 

Eventually he settles on a plain grey t-shirt and an emerald green leather jacket. It’s a really nice jacket, and it fits him so well Pat jokes that it must have been fate for them to end up here, just so Brian could find it. 

Brian still pulls a few more things out for Pat, including a demolition companies t-shirt that has ripped off the Guns ‘N’ Roses  _ appetite for destruction  _ album cover art. It’s kind of understated and a little weird, Pat pulls it over his head and accepts it as his new t-shirt. 

Brian loops back around to the dark denim jacket before they’re about to leave. 

“It’s the same cut as your camo one, it’ll look good on you.” Brian argues holding it up again. “Plus the one you wear now is all tattered with holes and cuts, it can’t be doing much good keeping you warm, you may as well chuck it for something more practical.”

“The one I wear now was Cherri’s.” Pat manages to say it casually, even though it doesn’t feel casual. “Wouldn’t get rid of it for the world.”

Brian’s eyes are wide and sad at that response. “Oh. Yeah, I get that.” He chews his lip a little uncertain before he carries on. “Want me to look for fabric that kind of matches, we can get it patched up so it doesn’t look much different.”

“I don’t know how to sew.”

“I’ll do it for you.” Brian’s voice is cautious, like he’s worried he’s overstepping, or might be about to set Pat off for even suggesting touching it. “I’d be careful, it wouldn’t look different.”

Pat feels a bit choked up at the offer, at how much sincerity and empathy are in Brian’s eyes. 

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

  
  
  
  


Neither of them realise how drunk they are until they’re crashing and stumbling through the broken hallways to get their washed clothes. Neither of them remember that Brian's got a bad ankle and is supposed to be using that cane.

Brian gushes in excitement over his jorts when he pulls them back on, and then gushes in excitement when they get back to Legs and she’s found him a backpack. 

Brian actually starts crying—he tries to hold back the tears, biting at his lip and waving his hands around his face as he tries to collect his thoughts. But Brian breaks down after a few minutes and he can’t really get any words out between his sobs, he tries to explain that he’s just really grateful for how nice everyone’s been to him—how much they’ve helped him.

Legs pulls him into her arms, lets Brian cry into her shoulder for a while as she rubs his back, talking so softly that Pat can’t hear what she’s saying. He want to be over there, wrapped around Brian as well, telling him the days he’s spent traveling with Brian have been good days despite the chaos—that Brian’s made things seem a little brighter. Pat just feels like he’d be intruding though, like he’s already intruding by sitting here watching them.

When Brian pulls back from Legs he wipes his eyes and sniffs. “Sorry, I just get over emotional when I’m drunk sometimes.”

“It’s to be expected.” Barbie says from the other side of the room, where he’s sprawled across the floor reading an old magazine in the dying light. “We’re all living on a knife’s edge, you can’t expect not to have a breakdown every now and then.”

Brian moves across the room, throws himself down on the sofa next to Pat, almost lands completely in his lap. He’s not sure if he’s emboldened by the alcohol, or if it’s because of the look Legs is fixing him with, but Pat wraps an arm around Brian and lets him curl into his chest.

They stay like that for the next few hours, still drinking the rest of the moonshine as they talk until there’s no light left streaming in through the windows, and the air gets cool enough for Legs to throw an extra blanket over at them. 

Pat doesn’t complain when the topic moves on to Katz, to the tragedy of their death and what it’ll mean for the desert from here on out, what will happen without shows being put on at the Nest. He doesn’t really get involved in that conversation, about inspiring hope and revolutions—although it makes Brian talk so passionately about needing to continue Katz’ legacy he almost falls off the seat. Pat waits until they’re reminiscing about the good times, when he can throw in stories of Katz and Cherri, and all the early days out here when things weren’t so tough. 

Eventually the jar of moonshine is empty and Pat is drunk enough that if he doesn’t get back to the room and lie down soon, he’ll fall asleep and wake up with a bad neck. He nudges Brian along, they say good night to Legs and meander back to their hotel room. 

Brian sits on the bed to untie his boots, silhouetted in the light from Pat’s headlamp that was still shining when they got back to the room. He must have left it on all of last night and forgotten to turn it off this morning—he’s glad he’ll be able to grab some batteries for it before they leave tomorrow.

Brian’s leant forward, struggling with the laces, when his whole body lolls forwards and he groans. 

“Vy, you know you’re my favourite person ever?”

“Yeah.” Pat grins, sliding his boots off easily before he moves towards Brian. 

“Can you help me get my boots off?” Pat laughs but comes over to kneel in front of Brian and start pulling at the laces himself.

“Why did you even do them back up we weren’t going anywhere?” Pat’s voice is gentle and he’s hyper-aware of this energy between them, this new atmosphere that’s overtaken them since they haven’t had to focus on surviving and running for their lives. That the alcohol has only accelerated tonight as they’ve been able to relax around each other, to feel truly safe in the other’s company. 

“Force of habit.” Brian complains as Pat tugs the laces loose enough on Brian’s bad foot that he can slip it off without it hurting. 

Pat does the same with the other boot, looking up at Brian from his spot on the floor to realise he’s being watched intently. Brian’s face so open and vulnerable, but with something else Pat can’t read. It’s something Pat doesn’t trust himself to read when he's drunk, because his hopes will get too mixed in with reality. 

But then Brian’s reaching a hand out, gently pushing the hair back from Pat’s face, whispering; “I’m so glad it was you. That for everything that happened at the Nest, at least it brought us together.” 

Pat’s moving without realising, all his longing finally catching momentum that he can’t contain. He puts a hand on Brian’s knee and sits up straighter, bringing himself level with Brian so that he can lean forward and capture his lips in a kiss. 

They kiss like that for a while, slow and sweet, until Pat’s knees ache from where he’s kneeling on the floor. Brian drags him into his arms as soon as they’re both under the covers, pulling him into kisses that are less chaste this time, more desperate and sloppy. Brian keeps making these little noises of pleasure, somewhere between a moan and a gasp of excitement.

Eventually exhaustion gets to them both and Brian turns around to be little spoon, still holding Pat’s hand against his own chest. Pat’s glad he can fall asleep with Brian in his arms without the guise of sharing body heat, without the threat of being found by Drac’s, without any danger lurking that could rip Brian away from him. 

Pat falls asleep, and for once doesn’t fall into dreams about being chased down by shiny white cars, and men in vampire masks. Instead he dreams about Brian, Brian in a world that didn’t rip itself to shreds, Brian living a life as beautiful and full as he deserves.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and sorry this has been a long time waiting for the update! 
> 
> Kudos and comments always mean the world <3


	5. Take the money and run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow look what finally updated. sorry it's taking forever, writing long things is tough.

Pat wakes up feeling groggy, his head pounding from too much moonshine, he’s lucky that his stomach isn’t doing somersaults as well. The memories of yesterday come back to him slowly, waking up with the news of Katz’s death sitting heavy on his heart, followed by drinking the pain and swirling thoughts away with Brian—the ridiculous fashion show, laughing with Legs and Barbie as the sun faded to nothing out of the window, and the kiss. 

Not _ the _ kiss really, the kissing, a whole load of kissing, a whole load of really good kissing. Pat’s not sure when he stopped being panicked about his sexuality and fell straight into desperate yearning and hoping that Brian could possibly be attracted to him as well. He rolls over with a groan,  _ Christ, _ he needs a med-pack to sort this headache out. 

Brian’s not in the bed when he rolls over. 

Honestly Pat thought they’d both still be tangled together when he woke up—when he realised Brian wasn’t pressed against him Pat guessed he’d shuffled to the other side of the bed, trying to stop his bad ankle from getting worse. 

Instead Brian’s not cuddled under the covers next to Pat at all. 

The room still feels like it’s spinning when he sits up and rubs at his eyes looking for Brian, but he’s not in the room—that’s when Pat’s heart lurches.

He was drunk, Brian was really drunk, maybe all that kissing wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe Brian woke up and wondered what the hell he’d been thinking, maybe he’s left panicking that Pat will be a dick if he has to say it was just a drunken mistake. 

Maybe Brian feels taken advantage of. 

Now Pat  _ really  _ does feel sick. He can’t remember everything clearly, he was already blackout drunk by the time they were kissing. He remembers helping Brian out of his boots, then they were kissing, then he had Brian pinned to the mattress. God, he just wishes he knew if it was him or Brian that made the first move. 

Pat’s thrown out of his thoughts when Brian comes stumbling through the door with a not-so-quiet  _ ow, fuck. _ He’s still limping a bit on his foot, taking steps that are more like hops without his crutches, but it looks like Barbie’s wrapped it in fresh bandages this morning. 

When Brian looks over at Pat his face is filled with trepidation before he gives a small shy smile. 

“I brought you some painkillers.” Brian grabs a bottle of water and drops it on the bed next to Pat along with the tablets before hobbling back to the other side of the room—in and out of Pat’s space before he really has a chance to process it. “I figure we’re probably suffering with the same blinding pain in our heads right now.”

Pat can’t read Brian’s body language, can’t read the expression, can’t work out if he crossed a line and Brian’s trying to get them back into their natural friendly rhythm as quickly as possible—without what happened last night being addressed. 

Pat thinks that’s probably it. Brian doesn’t want to give the drunken kiss post-mortem, he’ll settle for the equilibrium being restored over the analysis of a drunken mistake. That’s the narrative Pat’s hungover brain decides to go along with. 

“Yeah, thanks.” Pat sits up, takes the tablets and carries on gulping down the whole bottle of water. His head isn’t going to stop ringing with a few painkillers, he feels like someone has driven an icepick between his eyes. He’ll throw up if he’s got to drag himself out into the heat to walk around in circles for hours. “I know we should head off before we’re walking under the midday sun, but I don’t know if we’ll find anywhere to crash for a few hours before then. Any chance you’d be happy to grab an extra few hours sleep here and set off in the afternoon.”

“Yeah, sure.” Brian seems to breathe a sigh of relief at the idea. Pat’s not that surprised really, Brian’s been living from day to day completely exhausted since they got away from the Nest together. Pat knows he’s lucky, that when he falls asleep he’s out cold—Brian’s been up all through the nights with panic and worry, wondering if he’ll ever see his sister again, imagining that the worst has already happened.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be all over you again.” Pat forces out a laugh with the statement, trying to sound casual, like it's no big deal. They don’t need to analyse what happened, Brian doesn’t need to explain how he feels about everything, but at least he can rest knowing Pat’s not going to make another move.

Maybe he said the wrong thing, maybe his voice still always sounds harsher than he means it to. Brian’s face falls, brow furrowed in confusion for a second before it melts away, before he shakes the reaction off with a laugh that matches Pat’s. 

Brian gets under the covers without another word and stays well on the other side of the bed, Pat doesn’t have time to analyse it anymore before his brain drops back into deep sleep.

When Pat wakes up again there’s a weight across his middle, he fidgets as he opens his eyes to find Brian much closer than before, arm thrown over Pat’s waist, looking up at him with a soft expression. Pat wonders how long Brian’s been awake—how long he’s been holding Pat like this.

“Sorry Vy.” Brian yawns and pulls his arm away, putting it in the space between them on the mattress. There’s not much space there, Pat’s close enough that he can see each of Brian’s eyelashes, can see the tiny scar on his cheek. “Must have gravitated towards you in my sleep.”

“It’s fine.” Pat yawns then, trying to think of something to follow that up with, an easy joke or something, but his brain is still trying to wake up. He’s trying to resist the urge to reach out and touch Brian, just smoothing his hair or running a finger across his jaw. He’s busy practising self-control when he belatedly realises their legs are tangled together. 

That can’t be good for Brian’s bad foot, being trapped between Pat’s heavy legs, but Pat doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to shatter this soft moment between them. Maybe the kiss wasn’t a mistake, maybe they’ve both been using the cold nights as an excuse to shuffle closer together and Pat isn’t the complete creep he thinks he is.

Brian closes his eyes again and sighs. “I’m very hungry but I don’t want to move.”

Pat chuckles softly. “You’ve still got a bad foot technically. I’ll do the heroic duty of getting you breakfast in bed.”

Pat untangles himself from Brian and grabs some nutrition bars out of the backpack, throwing them over onto the mattress—it’s not much of a breakfast really, but it’s enough. They eat quietly together, before packing up their stuff and making their way through the winding corridors, back through the rubble surrounding most of the building, and into the afternoon sun.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Pat’s more disoriented as they trudge a slow pace across the dust, it’s been years since he was out this way, since he stopped at the Honeycomb and had to make his way back to more populated expanses of the desert. He’s not exactly sure which direction he needs to head in, and the wind is kicking up so much dust today that he can barely see ten meters in front of them, can’t make out any recognisable shapes on the horizon to head towards.

He’s grateful for the moments when the winds die down, when the dust settles, when he can whip his head around quickly and make sure there’s no Dracs around, can squint at a shape in the distance and guess what he’s looking at, can attempt to divine some kind of useful information about the direction they’re traveling in. 

He doesn’t know what’s been happening out here since they hid away in the Honeycomb—he knows Katz died, that there’s been a real fight somewhere, that Dracs are probably more confident than ever. But he doesn’t have any specifics, hasn’t been able to tune into Dr D’s station and hear which spots to avoid. All he’s got is hope, held tight in his dusty hands, filling his chest with something dangerous—some strange vision that he might make it out of this mess alive, be able to have some kinda life with Brian. It’s a dangerous feeling, one that feels like he’s about to get punched in the face.

It’s all he has though, it’s all  _ they _ have. Hope and each other’s company. 

The only good thing Pat figures as they move through dust storms slowly is that Brian’s not limping anymore, their pace is a little slower than usual—and Pat doesn’t think the kid could break into a run without making his ankle worse—but at least Brian doesn’t seem to be in any discernible pain. 

Even though they’ve had two nights with the luxury of a real bed, and a lie in until late afternoon—probably way too late to be sensible—Pat’s starting to realise they’ll only have three more hours max before the sun dips into the burnt out orange of sunset—Pat’s legs are aching like they haven’t in years. He’s exhausted, sick of packing up and moving on, sick of a life where you can’t stay still, where you have to keep looking over your shoulder, sleeping with one eye open.

Pat had accepted this new life, had made his peace with it. But now Brian’s here, it’s twisted, come loose and fallen away as they travel together. Maybe it’s Brian’s innocence, how he chats and asks questions other people wouldn’t, how he makes up games for them to play, riffing ridiculous songs about things they pass by. Pat’s overwhelmed with the feelings of how wrong this is, how Brian shouldn’t be living a life like this. There’s a pull in his chest for a  _ normal _ life again, an anger at the world for collapsing into whatever kind of place it is now—a world where this life as an outlaw means you can keep a clean conscience, unlike being a functioning member of society.

Pat thinks Brian’s got these feelings swirling around inside him today too, he’s not talking or singing, just sighing every so often. Whenever Pat catches his eye it looks like there’s something on the tip of his tongue that he’s too afraid to say, or too tired for the conversation that would follow it. Pat can feel it in the air though, Brian wants to say this is bullshit, to tell Pat he’s bullshit as well for accepting it, for not wanting to fight tooth and nail for a way out of this barren landscape, this barren life. 

Pat gets some water out of his backpack, takes greedy gulps considering they’ve only got three bottles left between them, hands it off to Brian who does the same. 

“There’s really nothing out this way, huh?” Brian asks, wiping his mouth as he hands the bottle back to Pat.

“Nope, not really.” 

They carry on walking and settle back into silence. Pat wishes more than anything they could have stayed in a bubble at the Honeycomb forever, that they could have drank with Legs and Barbie for a week, letting themselves lose track of time, forgetting the world that’s out here waiting for them. 

  
  
  
  
  


They walk at a snail's pace until Brian spots body bags in the distance, he tips his head at them, looking back at Pat with a question. Pat nods and Brian walks a little faster as they head over, Pat can see when the nerves hit Brian, fingers jittering and tapping anxious patterns on his own thighs as he walks.

Pat doesn’t love Brian’s need to check every body bag they come across, but he gets it, the grim desperation for information—good or bad. The choking feeling that bad news is better than no news, because at least bad news would stamp out the flames of hope in one swift strike. Although Pat thinks those flames are dying in Brian’s chest anyway, he opens the bags slowly now, eyes determinedly staring down into the plastic like he’s expecting to see Laura or Jonah looking up at him. It’s like Brian’s half convinced this is the only way he’ll see their faces again, and he doesn’t want to miss his chance to say goodbye.

There’s six long shiny white bags around them, more than they usually stumble across. It makes Pat’s stomach twist, a whole crew might have been taken out in one attack, six people ready to die for each other and here they lay—dead for nothing, and no one. The body bags are half buried from where the wind’s been throwing the dust around all day, where the hard dried mud here is loose, from a fight, from a car chase, from whatever happened this morning.

Brian drops to his knees with a breath, at the head of the first bag, and Pat stands behind him, eyes watching the dust clouds around them. This isn’t them, Pat knows that in his bones—senses the phoenix witch laughing somewhere in the back of his mind, somewhere beyond this world. This isn’t going to be anyone Brian recognises, but he’s almost sure one of these bodies is someone he knew, someone he cared about. 

Pat hears Brian slide the zip and doesn’t look down, waits to hear the noise of the zip again, then Brian’s shaky exhale. He wants to drag Brian away, to tell him that there’s an awful feeling in his gut, that this dust storm is going to bring them trouble, but the kid’s stubborn and he’d tell Pat to go on without him before leaving himself. Brian’s moving quickly at least, they can spare a minute for the kid’s peace of mind. 

Another zip slides open, then closed, there’s another shaky breath as Brian shuffles towards the next bodybag and Pat keeps squinting out at the rolling clouds of dust. 

Brian’s looking into the fourth bag when a white car rolls out of the dust, not Dracs either, a SCARECROW unit, probably heading to clean up this mess.

“Spark! Spark!” Pat can hear himself yelling, and the car has seen them, it’s speeding up, a masked face appearing out the passenger side window. Pat fumbles for his gun, can’t make up his mind on if he should start shooting or drag Brian up off the ground—he reaches towards Brian. 

Everythings a blur then, Brian’s stood next to him as he shoots towards the car, and then there’s more of them, Drac’s walking straight out of the dust from another angle—oh god, have they got themselves surrounded? Brian’s got his gun out of the holster, firing off shots in the direction of the car as well.

The wind picks up, more dust in their eyes, Pat can feel it burning harsh in his throat, making him cough, but he doesn’t have time to cough. He’s staggering towards the Dracs on foot, one of them going down at his shot before he turns back to the car. He’s trying to cover Brian, to take out the guy with the military grade gun that zaps bright yellow flashes every time it fires, surely strong enough to take someone out in one hit, to scorch a limb off at first contact. 

Pat’s gun isn’t that strong, and it takes a few hits but he gets it, the person’s body leaning out of the window completely lifeless, gun falling to the ground. There’s still laser fire bouncing all over the place, Brian’s wild shots that aren’t hitting, Pat’s spinning shots between the Drac’s behind him and the guy in the car—who’s now out of the car, and walking towards Brian.

Pat’s brain is pleading, one straight shot and the kid has got it, solved the worst of their problems, Pat can handle two Dracs then, can turn his back on Brian for a second and get it done with. Brian staggers back, trips over a body, and Pat wants to scream—but then he’s firing, and it’s enough—it’s more than enough, it’s a near perfect headshot.

Brian’s turning then, and all that speed suddenly switches to slow motion as he turns towards Pat, screaming “Vinyl!” with terror in his voice.

Pat spins, fast enough that he shoots one of the Drac’s behind him, but not fast enough to get them both. The other shoots at Pat’s right hand, sends his gun flying through the air, the pain of laser burn spreading through his fingers. The Drac is close, and Pat’s got no gun and no choice but to throw a tactless left hook—one that the Drac catches easily, twisting Pat in towards his body, locking an arm around his throat.

Pat’s facing Brian again, can see the horror on his face even through the dust still whipping around them, the wind loud in his ears. He can feel dread spreading down his spine as the Drac lifts his gun to Pat’s temple, still warm from where it fired the last shot.

“Spark!” Pat screams, struggling, desperate, voice breaking into a sob. “Spark! Get up! Get up and shoot!”

He can feel the Drac laughing through his body, and  _ god _ that’s a sickening feeling, to know that whoever’s existing under that mask can still laugh, can still feel joy or humour or whatever the fuck—but it’s twisted into this cruelty, into this brand of evil. The Drac starts taking steps back, pulling Pat with him and no, no no no, Pat would rather die. Brian is standing now, taking steps forward, raising his gun, unsure.

“Spark!” He’s screaming again, and he can feel the tears wet on his face. “Shoot! Even if you shoot me! I don’t wanna—”

Pat’s gulping air, struggling as hard as he can, but it’s nothing, it’s not working. The Drac presses the gun against Pat’s temple a little harder. 

“I don’t wanna be a Drac. Spark! I can’t, you’ve gotta shoot now!” The Drac starts moving faster, Pat trying to dig his boots into the ground, to stop him getting taken away. Brian’s still just stood there, frozen, shaking, letting it happen. “For fucks sake take the shot! Brian!” Pat’s voice breaks, high and desperate. “Brian, please!”

Pat has to close his eyes as lazer fire zips towards him, prays that if it’s going to hit him at least it’ll be a clean shot that takes him out in one go—but the pain doesn’t come, instead the arm drops from around his throat, and he’s falling to the ground along with the body behind him. Pat’s on the ground, bent over with his hands in the dust, eyes still closed as he takes heaving breaths, coughing and sputtering as he comes back to himself.

Then he can hear Brian’s footsteps, heavy boots running over. He opens his eyes to Brian dropping onto his knees in the dirt beside him, throwing arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug that it takes Pat a few seconds to reciprocate. 

“Vinyl.” Brian’s crying too by the sounds of it, burying his face in Pat’s neck. “Vinyl, I didn’t want—I couldn’t—I did, I did. That’s all that matters. Oh god.” 

Pat breathes deep, buries his nose in Brian’s hair. “You did, you did.” Pat’s panting, waiting for his breathing to return to normal. “You did great.” 

Brian doesn’t respond to that, just holds Pat until he starts pushing away, standing up and pulling them both of the floor. Brian’s looking at him with wide eyes, a shocked expression. “You knew my name.” Brian breathes out in one  _ whoosh _ of breath. “How do you know my name?”

“First night together.” Pat says quickly, moving away from Brian over to his gun on the ground—it’ll need to be repaired,  _ fuck.  _ He grabs a gun from a Drac as well and looks around, willing his adrenaline to settle so he can work out what direction they need to head in, so he’s not just running into another fight like a headless chicken. “Come on, we need to go.” 

“You knew my name this whole time?” Brian’s asking grabbing Pat’s arm, slowing him down from his marching pace. “You knew my name and never said?” 

“It didn’t matter. It  _ doesn’t _ matter.” Pat clarifies in a stern voice, stopping next to Brian, taking a deep breath as the wind settles and the dust clears a little. “You thought I was asleep. I wasn’t supposed to hear it.” Brian goes to say something, but Pat cuts him off. “We can talk later, we need to get out of here.”

Brian shakes the emotion off himself then, nods and slips back into determined perseverance. “Yeah, I can run—not for long, but my ankle will take it.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


They run until Brian’s making little noises of frustrated pain, forcing them to slow their pace as the sky turns pink above them, they’ve got an hour left of light to travel in before they’ll need headlamps and torches—before they’ll stick out like a sore thumb on any security camera that manages to catch them. 

Pat knows where they are now, Zone 5, dead in the middle—which, okay, being dead in the middle of the desert isn’t the most comforting thing, but at least they’re far enough out that there won’t be Drac patrols around here at this time. Probably not, at least. 

Pat’s brushed past his near death experience, isn’t looking to talk about it, isn’t going to drop to his knees in front of Brian crying  _ I owe you my life. _ It happened,  _ that _ happened, this desert is a mess and they keep walking on together quietly, walking on with the hope that this will all be for something when Brian gets back to Jonah and Laura. 

They see a building they can head towards eventually, and Pat hopes there’s a supply drop there, that someone’s using it as a base so they can find out what’s been happening—that someone might be there who’s seen Dr. D. It’s useless hope, they get there and it’s tiny, Pat can’t even imagine what this shack still was when the world was still standing around it. It’s more like a concrete box than anything else.

There’s corrugated metal across half the top, so it’s not going to be warm, but it’s enough cover from the wind, cover from enemies lurking. They push past a big piece of graffitied plyboard that’s being used as a makeshift door, into the tiny building with tile floor.

There’s a lumpy single mattress shoved against one wall, and then on the other side of the room, an entire four paces away there’s a wooden stool, a metal basin that’s been used as a fire pit. That’s something at least, they might have to steal a leg of the stool to burn, but it’s something. 

“We really coulda used finding a place with some more supplies huh?” Brian asks, and Pat nods, swinging his backpack off his back and pulling out his half empty bottle—shaking it as if to emphasize the emptiness. Brian looks a little nervous as he asks; “You’ve still got one more full bottle right?”

Pat nods as he takes a glug from the bottle, handing it off to Brian. “You’ve got half a bottle left?”

Brian nods as he drinks, then speaks as he does the top back up, putting it on the floor near the mattress. “Yeah, it’s smaller than those bottles though.” 

Pat hums and sits on the stool, rooting through his bag until he finds a can of beans, pulling it out and holding it up to Brian. “The good news is, if I can get a fire going, we can have something other than nutrition bars again.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Pat feels a little guilty for breaking the stool down to use as firewood, but it’s freezing once it gets dark. They’re both shivering and pressed against each other as Pat’s trying to get the fire going—he thinks that it’s almost like their bodies forgot how cold it gets out here after two nights sleeping in a sturdy building. 

They’re quiet mostly as Pat heats the beans and Brian sees to his foot, pulling his boots off with a wince before he’s rummaging through his bag for the cream Barbie gave him. He rubs it into his skin gently, sucking in a pained breath through his teeth every so often.

Brian’s calm and subdued, Pat guesses they’ll probably eat the beans and fall into bed pretty much straight away. But then the mood shifts, something in Brian shakes loose and he starts talking, almost ranting, like a delayed adrenaline rush now he’s got the time to process what happened. 

“That was crazy today, Vy.” Brian breathes as Pat passes the metal mug of beans off to him. “Crazy bad, like awful. So awful I hated it, but also, oh my god, I did it.”

“You did it?” Pat laughs a little amused. He’s shoved the memory of the Drac having him in a headlock to the back of his brain, terror like that is only going to slow him down out here if he lets it sit on the surface. 

“Yeah, like, fired a gun at someone, face to face.” Brian’s voice swings between something like excitement and something like shock, it’s all tipped a little uncertain. “I was in a real shootout and like, I did okay, right?”

“You did great.” Pat laughs for real then. “Saved my ass from being dragged away by that Drac.” 

“Yeah, god, fuck.” Brian’s expression drops. “Vy, I’m sorry, Jesus. I wasn’t—I’m sorry—you almost. God I’m over here revelling in my bravery and—”

“You’re fine kid, don’t worry.” Pat shifts closer to him a little so he can bump their shoulders together. “I’m fine, that’s down to you, you’re allowed to feel hyped for surviving, for making sure I survive along with you.” 

“I guess we’re one step closer to being even now.” Brian says with a small chuckle, bumping their shoulders again. 

“Huh?”

“At the Nest. You shot three Dracs who were trying to wrestle me into that mask.” 

Oh, yeah. Pat did do that, weird how that memory had buried itself already, it’s there though, leaps back to the surface the second it has a chance. Brian’s face twisted in desperate panic, his sobs, arms hitting out hopelessly at the men surrounding him. 

“It’s not a debt to be repaid kid.” Pat pulls his voice back to something gruff instead of something vulnerable. 

“I know.” Brian sighs, and leans against Pat then, putting the empty mug down on the floor. They sit in the quiet for a while again, Pat staring into the fire as he tries to stop the sickening churn in his stomach as he imagines what would have happened if he hadn’t been there that night. 

The silence drags on, until Brian coughs and asks quietly; “What happens to the people who end up in a mask and dragged back to the city?” 

“Nothing good.” Pat huffs and pushes himself up off the ground. “We should get some sleep.” 

Brian’s nodding, watching Pat as he gets the sleeping bag and blanket out of his backpack—he yawns and then keeps talking."

“Did you ever see Dracs when you lived in the city?” 

Pat scoffs. “Nope. All that’s hidden, was shocked as anything when I got out here and suddenly strange men in shitty Halloween masks were chasing me down.” 

He throws the blankets over at Brian, sitting down on the mattress that’s more metal springs than comfort as he undoes his boots. 

“There’s not even police in the city, well, not like old school police—sirens and guns and all that. It’s just scary government officials in suits, exuding power as they walk around the place.” 

“You didn’t even see the police when someone was breaking a rule, not conforming to the ideal Better living life?”

Pat sighs and stretches, putting his boots aside and pulling his glasses off. “You never saw anyone breaking a rule, never heard about anyone going wild and stopping taking their pills. No one mentioned the pills we took everyday, you just did it, you did it and it blocked out half of reality, and that was just life.” 

Pat gets under the covers, facing Brian even though they’re extremely close. Brian seems to be hesitating for some reason, then he reaches forward, holds Pat’s hand gently and speaks in a whisper. “What happened that made you leave?”

Pat doesn’t pull his hand away, doesn’t even flinch at the question—which is proof this kid has wriggled his way to the centre of Pat’s heart. Pat takes a deep breath and starts talking in a voice that sounds too fragile to his own ears, unfortunately he still hasn’t found a way to tell this story without a lump in his throat.

“Same as most people who leave, I stopped taking the pills and woke up from the fog I’d been living in.” He huffs out a single bitter laugh. “I didn’t even stop taking them to rebel, didn’t have the urge in me. My life felt like it was going perfect actually, like it was all finally falling into place, I thought I wouldn’t need the pills to keep smiling. I figured that the reminders all over TV, all across the city— _ keep taking your pills _ —they were all for other people who didn’t have their lives together like mine.

I was engaged, planning a wedding, just had a promotion—not that meant anything really, I realised that a week after I was off the pills.” Pat shifts on the mattress, tries to work out what parts of the story he wants to relive altogether, Brian gives his hand a little squeeze—telegraphing comfort, that Pat doesn’t need to go on if he doesn’t want to. He pushes through. “It was messed up there, the entire city, and coming off those pills meant running into it headfirst on every street corner. So much unjustice, so much unhappiness, no individualism left—an entire population turned into robots.

It made me angry, and anger sticks out like a sore thumb in a city where everyone’s placid, too dosed up on pills to feel anything real. Someone talks to you about an emotion they’re experiencing, someone criticises the system, they look like a mad man—I looked like a mad man. My fiance had to take the brunt of it, I was angry, and a lot of the time just straight up mean. I tried to get her off her pills too, she wouldn’t have it, threatened to call someone about my “breakdown”. It kept me in line for a little bit longer, at home at least.

I started poking around the parts of the city I’d been warned against visiting, started meeting other people who’d stopped taking the pills, people who were already on the run, who were telling stories about the world outside of the city—how there was barely anything left but apparently some people were surviving, really  _ living _ again. They had booze in the slums of the city, I went home real messed up for the third time in a week and she’d called government officials out.”

Brian squeezes his hand again as Pat stalls and takes another few deep breaths, trying to push through to the end of the story.

“Anyway, it was four men in sharp suits, mean looking, stern talking. She was pleading with them, telling them I could change, that I was suffering, pleading with me to promise them that I would. I did in the end. It felt horrible coming out of my mouth, the promise to get back on the pills—up the dose as well—and focus on being a good citizen. I knew it was a lie. I left her the next morning before she’d woken up, became another mad man in the slums, begging for food from strangers and waxing poetic about the life I’d live when I got beyond the city line.”

“How long were you in the slums for?” Brian asks quietly.

“A month or so, not too long.”

Brian looks sad. Pat hates that, he doesn’t need Brian to feel sorry for him, besides, the stories he’s told about travelling through the south make Pat’s story look like a walk in the park.

“I’m sorry you went through that, the city sounds awful.” Pat hums and lets his eyes drift shut, tries to pull his mind out of his past, away from the part of his life he wants to forget entirely. “Do you know what happened to your fiance?”

“Nope.” Pat says it easily, but it still stings a little. “No way of knowing. I’ve never tried to get a message back through to her—for the first few months out here I thought I’d break back into the city to save her. That’s a long dead idea now, she’ll have moved on entirely, probably forgotten I ever existed.”

“I’m glad I’ll never have to take those pills.” Brian says as he drops Pat’s hand to wrap an arm around him, to pull their bodies flush together and press his face into Pat’s chest. “I’m glad I’ll never forget you.” 

Pat holds Brian tight and kisses the top of his hair, humming in agreement. 

They keep talking, moving away from depressing subjects so they don’t have to keep swallowing more pain. Brian turns in Pat’s arms to be little spoon, and Pat quizzes him on all his favourite things as his fingertips meander under Brian’s shirt, tracing soothing patterns into his skin. 

Brian tells Pat about his favourite teacher, the best meal he ever had, the best place he ever travelled to, his favourite birthday party he remembers having as a kid, the one where he got a dinosaur cake and everyone talked about it for  _ weeks. _ He tells Pat how he met Oaty, what it was like growing up with Fizz, the good memories of his childhood until his voice breaks on a memory of his parents. 

“Sorry, can we change topics.” Brian asks, voice thick with sadness. He sniffs and fiddles with the blankets and Pat thinks he’s probably crying. Pat hums an affirmative noise as he ducks his head to kiss the back of Brian’s neck. It takes a minute for Brian to come back to himself and start talking again. “How come you’ve been using my codename when you knew my real name?”

“You didn’t know I knew, it was information I had that wasn’t really given to me. Wouldn’t feel right to throw it around casually.” He can feel where Brian’s about to respond, so he beats him to it. “Beyond that it’s protection, like if the Dracs can’t identify you so easily they can’t hurt people that knew you when you still lived in the city for mistakes you’re making. That and it’s a rejection of who you were before all this, the person who lived in the city and let yourself become complicit in all the horrors around you. You’ve left that behind. New life, new name.”

Brian hums and pulls Pat’s hand out from under his shirt to hold close to his chest.

Pat hesitates, feels the words stick in his throat, has to open his mouth three times before he can find the courage to spit it out. He drops his voice down to the quietest whisper. “My name was Pat, before, Pat Gill.”

Brian turns onto his back, rolling into Pat more than anything as he looks back up at him. Pat watches Brian pull his hand up to his lips to kiss his knuckles. “You’re amazing Pat Gill.” He mirrors Pat’s dead quiet whisper.

They lie in the silence together until it’s not silent. Until they hear a car somewhere around them, outside the tiny shelter they’re hidden in. They both go stiff, Brian turning on his side to face Pat again, both of them listening carefully, ready to move if they need to. 

The car gets closer, but there’s music, and voices. They’re safe, it’s people like them, a crew out late being wild because they’ve found a car with a working CD player, and there’s nothing quite like driving through the dark when you’re sure no Drac patrols are going to pop up to catch you.

The car has just gone past them when someone starts howling, and there’s more howling returned back to them. Brian’s grinning at him, and Pat’s grinning back. He gives the quietest howl he can, not enough for anyone from the car to hear him, but it’s something. Brian’s eyes gleam, and he copies Pat with a whisper-howl of his own, before he leans forward to capture Pat’s lips in a kiss.

They kiss slow and a little awkward with how they’re pressed together on the too small mattress, but it’s perfect, Brian’s perfect—and when he pulls away from the kiss Pat can’t stop tracing fingers over his face, following the lines of the perfect soft features in front of him. 

The sinking feeling in Pat’s stomach has turned into a heavy realisation, they can’t keep pretending they can make it through the desert like this. They’re vulnerable, always out in the open together, and it feels like everything is going to keep getting worse, that Dracs are amping things up, that Better Living are poised to ruin the lives of every outlaw out here. Pat’s not about to storm the city, but he knows they’re running out of time to make it back before more people are lost to shootouts. 

Pat’s pretty sure he’s dozed off when he pulls his hand away, Brian’s had his eyes closed for some time now, and his breathing is deep and even—Brian’s still awake though. He whines  _ don’t stop _ and reaches for Pat’s hand without opening his eyes, trying to stifle a yawn as he does.

Pat laughs a little. “Come on, we need to sleep. We should set out early tomorrow, I’ve got a plan.”

“What’s the plan?”

“We need a car, I can get us one.” Pat huffs a laugh, pushes the hair off Brian’s forehead. “Get ready to embrace a little corruption.” Brian makes a small confused noise. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. Go to sleep.”

  
  


 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'll update this again in two weeks probably
> 
> Comments and kudos make my day if you wanna leave some!


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